


Tea and Sympathy

by Buggirl



Series: May to September [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Awkward First Times, F/M, First Time, Pregnancy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For MacCready its just a job with some side benefits, right? To get through the mistakes he's made in his short time in the Commonwealth. And for sole Survivor, Molly Gould, who is wholly unprepared for the attentions of a much younger man, all she wanted was to offer a little tea and sympathy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the little things

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to manicparadox on tumblr for inspiring me to write this!
> 
> Rating may change to explicit for later chapters.

MacCready looked around the room and released a satisfied sigh as he sat back in the chair. Another settlement done, another job finished for the Minutemen and settlers in the Commonwealth. They didn’t appreciate how good they had it with Molly Gould in charge, the whole place was ready to go for at least ten settlers and it took less than three days to prepare. This room in particular looked nice, real nice. Molly had set it up just so. A comfortable bed, a set of drawers, even a painting on the wall and a rug on the floor. The place was also dotted with crazy little luxuries like the petite decorative table that sat near the entrance to the cottage, and in another cottage, she’d placed a delicate looking vase, one of two they recovered from the derelict houses. Sunshine Tidings was a safe place, too good for him, too pleasant and neat and now, so goddamn clean. He tilted his head, what was it about this place that reminded him of Little Lamplight? It wasn’t the cleanliness for sure, or the layout and certainly wasn’t the location, and to top it off it lacked the steady rock he knew as comfort above his head. It wasn’t anything tangible, or something he could truly call home, yet, there was something.

He screwed up his nose and sniffed his hands. The smell of rotting ghoul still lay in the creases of his hardened palms; a first pass under water hadn’t removed the putrid odour. He stood and stretched, his hamstrings ached and his knees wobbled as he walked out on to the porch. He watched as Molly filled a large pot at the pump and then hauled it towards the barn. With one swift move she hoisted it over the fire of the cooking station, his eyes widened, surprised she still had the strength left in her arms after today’s effort.

He walked to the Brahmin water trough and splashed his hands and face and the back of his neck before rubbing the remnants of soap on his exposed skin. He rinsed, hoping it would be enough to remove the stink that had followed him since tasked with finding a dumping ground for all the dead ghouls from around the settlement.

He turned his attention back to Molly, her face was still covered in speckles of dirt and muck. “Hey Gould, watcha doin?”

She turned her head but not the rest of her body and he smirked as he saw her eyebrows rise.

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” she replied.

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

She shook her head and half closed her eyes. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Would you prefer General Gould, or Boss?”

“How about just Molly, _Robert._ ” This time she stood and faced towards him hands on hips. 

He smiled and raised his hands as he walked towards her. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. But you haven’t told me what you’re doing.”

“Boiling some water.”

“That’s kinda obvious. You hungry already? Didn’t we just eat an hour ago?”

“This is for a wash. If there’s any left, maybe some tea.” She made a point of sniffing as he came closer.

“Hey! I used soap, and the water in the trough is clean.”

“Hot water works much better than cold water.”

“Works fine for me,” he said. “I don’t smell nasty.” He ran his nose along his arm but backed away when he realised he could still smell dead ghoul.

“You would think that.” She examined her hands while she spoke. 

He folded his arms across his chest and pouted. “You don’t smell so great either.”

She pointed to the pot of simmering water. “That’s why I’m going to wash myself. In hot water and with soap. Do me a favour and grab those two empty pots. Fill one with cold water, then take them inside the little house.”

He laughed. “Little house? That’s cute.”

She frowned and waved him away. 

He did as she asked and dragged two pots into the house. He left Molly outside waiting for the one on the fire to boil. He plopped himself back down on the chair inside the cottage, no, ‘little house’ and chuckled. He’d kill for a cigarette right about now. Instead, he settled for a mouthful of whiskey and a clean water chaser.

He remained seated as she entered with the large pot of boiling water. She struggled to hold the pot and the door open at the same time but he didn’t offer to help because he knew she’d grow snarky. She placed an old oven mit under the pot and poured half the water into the empty pot on the floor, then set it down on a metal chair before taking the pot with cold water and topping up both half-filled pots.

He shook his head. “This is certainly an elaborate process. Did you do this before the war?” he asked.

Molly dragged another chair over, sat down, and began to undress. “We had hot running water then, we didn’t need to do this. You’ve heard of that surely?” She threw her boots into the corner of the room.

“Yeah I’ve heard about it. Never seen anything like it though, not actually working that is - closest gadget I’ve seen was in a medical clinic up in Diamond City. And that was cold water.” His eyes followed her as she stood to shut the door. “You don’t need to do that, there isn’t anyone else here yet.”

“Habit. There’s no privacy here and that’s one feature of life I had before the war that I still value. It’s a little thing, but it means something to me. Clean water, food that doesn’t make you sick, nice soap.” She picked up a yellow bar of soap and waved it at him, he could smell whatever flower was infused in it from across the room. “Little things I took for granted are now luxuries.” 

MacCready nodded. He attempted not to stare, but when she unbuttoned the tight leather pants and slid out of them, she revealed frilly bright pink underpants and a lacy matching bra he couldn’t help but ogle. He felt his heart start racing. “Where the hell did you find those? I don’t remember ever seeing those. They’re just-- wow. Another ‘little luxury’?”

She laughed. “Would you believe I found these in a raiders closet? I’ve lost weight since coming out of the vault and nothing fitted anymore. I saw these and grabbed what I could. This at least fits better. You would disapprove of course, I know how much you hate lugging the junk I pick up.”

He cleared his throat. “I can allow an exception in this instance. Not Wastelander wear though.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Do me another favour, go fill up this pot and boil some more water. I need tea.”

“You mean I can’t stay and watch you? You could show me how to do it right, I might even be able to help.” A suggestive smile curled across his lips.

She handed him the empty pot with a no nonsense grin. “Go fill it, please.”

He took it reluctantly and sighed. “You could be missing out.” 

“On what exactly? Your filthy hands all over me whilst I’m trying to wash away the grime?”

“What did you call it the other day? You know, when we were at that factory and a ghoul came out from behind a door I said we didn't need to look behind?"

Molly bowed her head and stifled a laugh. "A teachable moment."

"Ahh yeah, ‘a teachable moment’, I could learn from this. Plus it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked. Extra credits for me maybe?”

Molly placed her hands over her chest in a faux stance of modesty. “Out.”

“Your loss, Gould.” He smiled as he stepped out the door.

He filled the pot and placed it on the cooking station. He squatted next to the fire and poked it with a large stick before looking up to the sky.

The clouds were a pale purple colour against a darkening background of speckled stars. There was a bang as the generator kicked in and lights blinked on in the barn and the cottage. Flames jumped higher as he shoved wood underneath the pot. He turned to see Molly’s naked form through the front window, silhouetted against flickering lamplight. Her wet hair curled across a clean cheek as the light hit her face.

With the dirt gone and her freckles standing out against a sunburnt skin, he remembered why this place felt like home.


	2. Indulge me

“This pump needs greasing,” she muttered under her breath. Molly’s jaw clenched when she looked around and saw how they’d set up the settlement. In her eyes, every house was crooked, their porches like a frown on an angry plaintiff, their broken windows like soulless judgemental eyes. It wasn’t good enough, _she_ hadn’t done a good enough job, the place was a disaster and she too spent to do anything about it. Her fist tightened around the pump handle as she pushed it to its limit. _Damn it I’m doing it again. If Nate were here, he’d tell me I’m doing okay, that things are never as bad as I say they are._ “I’m Molly Gould, I’m General of the Minutemen,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

Sometimes the sunsets are golden, some days her pip boy crackles as the rads ride high during a storm that turns the sky green. When it rains and is foggy, like it often is at the change of seasons between autumn and winter, she’s reminded of how things used to be. The last three days had been a struggle, but at least it kept her mind on things other than the past. The downside, her discontent about everything.

“It’s okay, it’s not like the settlers won’t be happy with what’s here,” she said.

Despite her dissatisfaction, her lost hope and the harshness she’s seen around her she’s found kindness here too. Preston had been her guide, Piper her voice, Nick her hope.

MacCready though, what was he? He’s far too young to be much more than the hired gun she’s paid him to be. If the war had never happened and he lived in her town, they would never have met. The guy’s 15 years her junior, he’d either be at college, or in a trade, and he’d be partying with other young people, having fun, ignoring the inevitability of adulthood whilst she was rising at her firm, a loving partner at her side and a family she had always said she’d have some day. They would definitely move in different circles.

She shooed him out of the little house she’d created as a layover for herself and laid a towel on the floor. She saw the way he gazed at her, a mixture of pity mixed in with lust, nevertheless, he seemed genuine enough and the arrangement they had was good. She had to admit, she liked the attention. Okay, his moves were nowhere near refined as Nate’s, his hands didn’t always find the right button to push, or they squeezed her flesh too firmly. On the flip side he’s always as hard as a rock and she always came, even if he might need guidance to help her get there. He’s an indulgence, someone to relieve the tension, that’s all.

She removed the bra and underwear. It’s so ridiculous in a way that’s not practical, much like how haute couture clothing and high heel shoes are practical, well, except for the occasion when a certain kind of persuasion was needed. 

She dipped the clean cloth in the water and rubbed it on the soap. Her washing pilgrimage began. Despite the stress and the weight loss she still had a softness about her, Nate had always said ‘Rubenesque’ and he liked the shape of her. In addition to the softness that remained, there were also callouses and bruises that covered her knees, shins, forearms and hips, all marks that she now led a different kind of life. The lights flickered on and she could see it all, her body no longer smooth, plucked and without a scratch.

Molly scrubbed at the ingrained dirt within the folds of her skin, under the crease of her breasts, in the line across her stomach, down her legs over the large purple mark now mottled with yellow on her thigh. She moved the cloth over her neck and face, then scrubbed every part of her body with the sweet smelling oatmeal and flower soap. A blast of cool from the open window flowed over her and she shivered as the water evaporated on her skin. She turned to see MacCready staring at her from near the barn. She looked away and down, and acted as if she never saw him staring, even though her cheeks burned.

A final rinse saw most of the grime and dirty removed, and she fumbled in her pack for a second towel.

MacCready entered with an old coffee pot, rinsed and filled with the boiling water. He’d stuffed it with the peppermint leaves she always carried with her on the road and the smell quickly overpowered the scent of the floral soap 

“Enough for two,” he said. 

She turned her head and smiled at him as she patted the large towel over her. “Thankyou.” Her brow furrowed. “But you don’t drink peppermint tea?”

He shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.”

There was silence between them as she continued to dry herself. He remained standing and even though she couldn’t see his face she knew he continued to stare. She only lifted her head when he spoke.

“Do you really think I smell?” He asked.

She placed the towel over her front and looked at him up and down biting her lip. “You smell like a lot of things, some good, some not so good, some, well, just bad.”

“Like those rotting ghouls.”

“Like those rotting ghouls.” She nodded in agreement.

He threw his cap off onto the bed and began to undress. “I can’t do anything about this right now--” He pointed to his jacket, but maybe when we get back to the boathouse I can give it a good wash and airing out. But at least I can be clean. Is that water okay?”

She laughed. “I’ve just washed myself using it what do you think?”

He shrugged. “Superior than that cold water in the Brahmin trough, right?” He pulled his boots off awkwardly and threw them in the same corner as Molly’s.

“I guess--”

“You finished with that?” He pointed to the wet cloth now draped over the chair as he stripped to naked.

She nodded and stared at him.

“Well don’t just stand there. Hand me it then, and the soap.” 

Molly realised her mouth was gaping but she handed him both. He dipped and wrung the cloth in one of the buckets and he rubbed both the cloth and soap quickly in turn over his body. She continued standing in the same place the towel still held modestly in front of her. She had a large smile on her face.

“What? Never see a naked man wash himself before?”

She placed a hand over her mouth and suppressed a laugh.

“Think that’s funny do you? Well this is your cloth yes?” He dangled the wash cloth in front of him.

She nodded and laughed loudly when he rubbed it cheekily between his legs. 

“So what do you think about that hey? Disrespectful hey? Yeah? Wont smell any more, hey?”

She couldn’t contain the laughter anymore and removed her hand from her mouth. “Good, errr-- personal hygiene can’t ever be disrespectful, MacCready.”

MacCready dropped the cloth on the floor and stood like a statue his chin in the air. He sniffed loudly. “Is that satisfactory enough for the General? Have I done a good enough job to share this fine settlement bed with her this evening?”

Molly pursed her lips and went over and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“A fine job soldier, a tad rushed maybe, but I’m sure whatever you’ve done will have the desired outcome.”

He nodded with a satisfied smile. “Thank you, General Molly Gould.”

He sat on the bed and watched her as she resumed drying herself. 

“Would you like the towel after me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m fine to air dry. However--” He paused. “Tell me General, before I washed, what did I smell like? Aside from dead ghoul. You said a lot of things, good, bad and ugly. What are they?” He cupped an elbow in one hand and tapped his lips with the other. “Mmmm whatcha say, General?”

Molly stopped motionless, an uncontrollable flush of heat washed over her body. “I-- you really want to know?”

He nodded. “Start with the ugly, work your way up to the bad then the good, and the very good if you have one of those, nothing like ending on a high note.”

If it hadn’t been for MacCready’s flippant and slightly flirty tone, she might have thought she had offended him. However, it appeared not to be the case and relief washed over her. She tucked the end of the towel into the crevice under her arm and walked over to where the pot sat, the peppermint now fully infused. She poured the green liquid into the two cups and walked back to him currently sitting spread eagled on the bed. She looked down and smirked, handed him a steaming cup before walking backwards and sitting herself in the same small armchair he had been ogling her from earlier.

“I’m not sure you’ll like what you’ll hear.” She placed an arm on the chair and crossed her legs. When she took a sip of tea, her foot danced teasingly in the air.

“I’m a big boy. I can take it. I can do you after. Tell you what you smell like that is. Then I’ll do you, as in do you do you. If you want, and you’re not too tired of course.” He gave a nervous laugh. “If you can take it. Take me telling you how you smell that is. Because I kinda know you can take the other thing.” He snorted as he laughed again.

Molly placed her mug on the small table beside the chair and her hands peaked in front of her face. _I’ve had a hard few days, I need this, this little luxury. He’s your indulgence. He’s what you need right now._ A wide smile fell across her face. “Okay then. Let’s start with the ugly.”


	3. Put your drawers on, and take your gun off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter was meant to be a little smutty, a little angsty, got smutty and a lot angsty. Apologies, I promise I'm going somewhere with this! Also, upgraded to explicit content because, well, explicit content.

He took a quick sip of tea and placed the mug on the ground next to the bed before leaning back on both arms. It took barely a morsel of her flesh to appear along with the prospect of sex to make him half-hard. All she had to do was sit back, look all soft and stuff. He could offer to inspect her bruise on her thigh, she got a nasty knock at that fishery plant last week and it appeared only now to have started healing.

“Fire away, General, hoping for another teachable moment here. I’m all about the learning and-- and stuff.” He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek then lifted his hands to his head and flexed.

“Stop that.”

“Distracting you?”

“In a word, yes. Now, do you want to know or you’re just -- I don’t know, dicking with me?”

“That’s an option for later, Ma’am. I want to know, do it, tell me. Like I said, a teachable moment.” He put his arms back down and behind him. If she didn’t hurry up then he’d just have to go with the dicking bit, far more enticing in his version than what she was talking about. The longer she sat in that chair with her foot twirling in front of him the more he wanted to forget about wanting to know why he stank and wanted to know more how her toes would taste and what it would be like to have them in his mouth. How does one have such pretty toes in a place like this?

She picked up her tea, took another sip and placed it back on the table. “Okay if you’re serious.” She rubbed a hand down the side of her face. “The ugly. You smell like ghoul and blood and putrid festering flesh. Not all the time, but it’s like your jacket absorbs the damn stink whenever we fight them. Even when I can’t smell it on myself I can smell it on you.”

He let out a long breath. “Harsh, General, but true.” He scratched his head. “That kinda explains why you keep making me wash it and why it’s falling apart. However, you know, hazards of the job. Rather smell of dead ghoul then be-- an actual ghoul-- or dead at the hands of a ghoul. On the whole I think I can deal with that.” He remained unaffected by the revelation; He’d been paid to do a job and it wasn’t something he could avoid given what they just had done to clear out the settlement. “Okay, the bad?”

“Easy. Cigarettes. I despise the smell of them, how it lingers on clothes and the air and on people’s breath. Given you don’t always seem to have access and you don’t smoke much when I’m around I’ve learnt to live with it.”

“Really? Why do you keep giving me cigarettes then?” There wasn’t a journey she returned from where she didn’t hand a packet to him. Even what he carried now was picked up by her and given to him when they arrived here.

“I don’t know, ask me later.” She waved a hand in the air and looked away from him.

“You know when you're around I have other things to occupy my time, you keep me busy in so many different ways. But, when you’re not, a cigarette takes the edge off, they just make me mellow. I don’t need them.” He lied, he’d killed for less than a cigarette before and he’d certainly killed for one in the dim dark past.

“I know, that’s why I didn’t say anything.” She drew her shoulders up to her ear then back down before looking away from him again.

He sensed that it made her uncomfortable so didn’t push it further. “Let’s talk about that some other time. How about the good?” He motioned for her to come over to him. “Come tell your nice clean little soldier what smells good about him. You can sit on my lap if you wish.” He gestured to between his legs.

When she covered her mouth to smile at his proposition his heart fluttered. Lucy used to do that too, when he said something crude or suggestive, but he always knew a smile was behind the hand, and it usually meant something good. He watched her stand, a sexy saunter towards him had him clawing at the sheets. She stood in front of him, his right knee between her legs, close enough to pull at the towel and let it fall to the ground . “Tell me what good smells come from me, General,” he said as he slid his hands up her legs to the swell of her behind.

“The good. You smell of Whiskey.” She whimpered when he squeezed her cheek in response.

He liked this part of her body, he liked kneading the soft flesh, like a cat pawing at a cushion. He liked lifting her at this point, letting her slow movement fold around him. He let his fingertips of one hand find their way to the space between her thighs and he smiled when he noticed her knees buckle at his touch. “I guess I often have that on my personage. Whiskey is good. Whiskey kisses are better.” He leaned forward and kissed the large purple bruise on her thigh. It was soft and he felt her shiver as his beard tickled the skin. “I can’t make that go away but maybe--” He kissed the bruise again. “--if I give it another kiss--” He kissed it several times before finishing his sentence. “You won’t notice how awful it is, or how it’s sore when I rub your thigh.” He led a trail of kisses from the top of the bruise to the bottom.

Her hands went into his hair and he knew that it was the right response, if he was half-hard before, then he was ready to go right now if she wanted.

“Is there something I smell of that’s irresistible, you can’t get enough of, that you think might be my signature scent.” His grin was playful, and he couldn’t help but wink when he looked up at her.

She shook her head, “Such a dirty boy.”

“Not any more. I must smell of oatmeal and whatever the hell that flower is.” One hand moved to her front and slipped between her legs. His fingers found her vulva and he parted her sex in a rough manner. She responded with a quiet gasp. “Is there a very good, General? Mmmm?”

Her hands continued to play running down to massage the skin beneath his beard then back up to the top of his head. “Gun oil and powder, you always smell of that, like it’s--, like it’s--” Her hands stopped combing through his hair and she closed her eyes and moaned when his two fingers penetrated. She fumbled and moved her hands from his head to his shoulder to balance.

MacCready laughed. “Like what General?” His thumb circled her clit as he spoke.

She opened her eyes, he could see the fog of pleasure clouding her response before it cleared and she steadied herself. “Like it’s in your skin. Like every-- part of you I’ve ever touched or kissed or sniffed. You smell of it, even now even after washing, you smell of it.” She moved her face to the top of his head and inhaled.

He laughed. “Are you saying I smell like a gun? That it turns you on? That you wouldn’t want that smell washed away?” MacCready removed his hand from between Molly’s leg and rubbed his hands together.

She stood up straight and blinked as though coming out of a daze. “Why you little--”

“I take that it’s a yes then? I smell like a gun, it turns you on and that you wouldn’t want that smell washed away.” He drew her in close, kissed her stomach this time, and then turned his face up to give her a cheesy grin.

She pushed him hard enough that he fell back on the bed, knees bent and feet still on the ground. She climbed on top of him and his hands went to her sides. One of his hands propped her up whilst one of hers moved down to grab his cock. With a firm grip, she slid her hand up and down grazing the tip. He could feel her finger slip over the head to play with the emanating fluid. He laughed then groaned as she squeezed.

“And what about me MacCready, what does your General smell like?”

He sat up abruptly his fingers delving down to her vulva and entering her. She gasped in response and he withdrew them just as hastily. He brought them to his nose and breathed in the musky scent.

“Mmmm the General smells like-- soap, salt, yeast--” He tilted his head to one side and pursed his lips. “and slightly sour milk. Yeah that’s it. Now if you want me to tell you what it tastes like that’s gonna take a bit more investigation.” 

Molly sat astride him her mouth open wide. “You cocky little bastard. I can’t believe you just did that.”

He shook his head in a self-assured manner and a smug grin plastered his face. He buried his face in her chest. Her hand returned to his hair and he laughed as he kissed each of her breasts. He felt her kiss the top of his head then his forehead and he turned his face up to hers, raring to have his mouth on hers.

He placed his hands at the same part of her body where he had caressed before and lifted her on to his cock. He was surprised to find she seemed to be so light, compared with last time they made love this way. He allowed her to set the pace, a given considering he couldn’t do much from this angle. He was rewarded with long moan from her mumbled into the nape of his neck. She pressed against him feverishly, rushed, as if she was desirous for them to finish. As she thrust herself on to him, he could feel her biting at the flesh of his shoulder.

He steadied then slowed her. “Woah, General, why the hurry?”

She lifted her head and sat back to look at him face to face. Her eyes were full of unfallen tears, her lip bloodied from biting it hard. A mild panic hit him and he immediately went soft within her.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to, I--shit, sorry I--.” He ran a hand through his hair as he blurted out the apology.

She shook her head with one violent movement. “No, no. Not you, not you. Me, all me,” she said.

“But I--”

“No not you, lovely boy. Not you.” This time he saw the tears fall and he watched helpless as she jumped off him and hurried to gather her clothes and bag together.

"You don’t have to go to another little house, stay here. We-- we can just sleep, you must be exhausted, I shouldn’t--.” He looked away from her. He shouldn’t have pushed it with her. She was tired, he saw the weariness in her eyes and still, with only his selfish need in mind, he wanted to fuck her. 

“Yeah I do have to go to another house.” She moved and sat on the side of the bed and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Her lip quivered as she spoke. She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips before rubbing her hand over his face again. “Tomorrow.”

He noticed a plea in her eyes, one that said she didn’t want to go, that she wanted to stay. He would have let her; he would have held her all night if she’d allow it, with no demands from him. It was obvious to him that she couldn’t see that side of him yet, although he could see she tried to delve deeper to dig away at him, looking for more of him than was in plain sight. Maybe he’d been too flippant with her, too jokey, too eager to fuck rather than talk. She might not have that understanding about him, that there was more to him mirrored in her plight than he let on. He hadn’t told her much, about Lucy or Duncan and that was solely his doing not hers. He hadn’t known whom he could trust, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to show her, so he nodded and watched her leave.

He lay down, his own exhaustion finally catching up with him. "MacCready, you fucking selfish little prick. Sorry Duncan, your pa done fucked up again."


	4. A picture is worth a thousand words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quarrel between Molly and MacCready sees some revelations come to fore and a realisation for Molly about her past and the way ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't realised, I've been alternating POV within the fic between Molly and MacCready. Also thankyou to Thievinghippo who's insight into drawing out emotions in writing has been invaluable!!

There were those ambitious ‘bend them until they break’ types in Molly’s old law firm who had names for other lawyers they thought weak. The most common was ‘bug’, easily scattering the moment they faced tough opposition or they flailed and failed under pressure like a moth that gets too close to a flame. Today she felt like a bug. The term was no longer relevant and her profession and her colleagues long dead, but it rested at the back of her mind. She was the bug, and this life, was the heel waiting to squash her, so she’d better run, and keep on running.

When she woke, every bit of her ached and still with the headache she had from the night before. Last night it didn’t matter that this little house and the bed inside were less indulgent than the one she set up for her and MacCready, but in the cool of the morning, she felt every bump in the mattress. The only solution to the problem would be a stimpak, or a half crate of whiskey, but considering what she had to do it would have to be the former.

From her bag, she took out a small creased photo, the only picture she had recovered from her former home. She found it buried in the pages of an old worn book during her clean up of Sanctuary, amazed that the pages had protected it for so long. The photo, of Nate holding Shaun, snapped while they slept on the couch, showed how it had been for the three of them. Shaun, only 5 months old at the time snuggled in the crook of Nate's folded arms was a painful reminder, but one she held close. She ran her thumb over the faded image. _You’re deluding yourself if you think you can make it through. You’ll never find Shaun, you’ll never see your son again. You’re a bug._ Fresh tears threatened and she shook her head. She stood and found some clean clothes in her pack and dressed without care.

She thought to head back to Sanctuary Hills today, before daybreak if possible, leaving MacCready a note telling him he could leave. He had already stayed well beyond the terms of his contract, especially after she helped him deal with those Gunners. But, it was now almost ten in the morning, she’d have to tell MacCready in person and maybe if she had it in her, apologise for keeping him away from his business too long. She counted the caps in her bag, there would be enough to give him a five hundred and send him on his way.

She had just finished dressing and there was a knock at the door. “Are you decent?”

 _No, far from it._ she thought. If she had a mirror she’d see her face was still puffy from crying and that her eyes were dotted with red. She smoothed her hair and ran two fingers under her eyes to catch any stray tears that might have fallen that she hadn’t noticed. She shoved the photo and remaining clothes back in the bag. “Come in.”

MacCready had a cup of tea in his hand and he passed it to her without asking if she wanted it first. He then leaned back on the wall.

“Thank you.” She gave him a weak smile and remained seated on the bed.

“Where to today, Gould?” He rubbed his beard as he spoke, his face expressionless.

Molly’s heart sank, she had hoped there was more to the mercenary than a hard and flippant response. Whatever she glimpsed in his eyes when she fled the room last night was all but gone from his tone and manner today. Another indicator of what a fool she had been to think-- think-- _what had she been thinking?_

She took a mouthful of hot liquid. It burnt her tongue and she shut her eyes before blinking them open again. “I think, you should head back to the boathouse.” She put the cup down on a table and brought out the pouch with the caps she had counted and put aside. “Or take these and go back to Goodneighbor. Job done.” She threw the pouch to him.

He caught it and turned the pouch over in his hands, his eyes narrowing as he examined it. “Caps?”

“There’s five hundred there, like we agreed. Oh and one more thing--” She reached back into the bag and brought out a packet of cigarettes that she also threw to him. MacCready did not smile or say thank you. He remained quiet, his face turned down to the floor as he dropped the cigarettes to the ground.

“What, not your brand?” She gave a nervous laugh.

Molly watched in silence as he dug his heel into a small gap in the floorboard. He was biting his lip, arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look up when he spoke. “I thought you were different. That you wanted to help people. That’s why I’ve been sticking around.”

Molly sat on the bed and scratched her cheek “I don’t know about different, but I do. I-- I have,” she stuttered. She felt her chest tighten.

MacCready threw the caps at her feet and they clinked against the wooden floor. When he looked up, a snarl had formed across his lips. “Keep your caps. I don’t need them.” He looked away and she could hear his breath as he inhaled deeply.

Molly picked the pouch off floor, it felt heavier than before. “I don’t understand, we had a deal. These caps are for the services you’ve provided to me. In fact you’ve done more than I asked. If you want more -- I should give you more.” She reached into the bag and brought out another pouch.

“I don’t want your fu-- oh fuck it. I don’t want your fucking caps. I don’t want them and I don’t need them. Put them back in your fucking bag.” His nostrils flared as he spoke. His voice harsh and abrupt.

”What have I done to offend you? These are caps for a job you’ve done.” She looked down at her hands, she didn’t want to do this, now he was swearing and that wasn’t a good sign for what little she knew of him. If only she could have fled before dawn, she could have avoided this. “Is this because of last night? Because I didn’t want to fuck you? Is that what this is about?” She bared her teeth and glared at him.

“You think it’s about that? You honestly think it’s about that?” The veins in his neck rose and stood out straining against his collar.

Molly felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “What else is it about if not that, my caps not good enough?”

MacCready began to pace the room. “You are so caught up in what you had before.” He stopped and pointed a finger at her. “I see you. I see what you’re doing.”

Molly couldn’t sit down any longer, her anger making her body tense and her heart pound. She stood, her eyes narrowed and focused. “You see what exactly? You’re a fucking mercenary, you kill for cash. You got lucky, you got your cash cow as well as quick fuck from someone who should know better. But, there’s one thing you’re not, MacCready.”

“And what the hell is that, Gould?”

“You’re not a psychologist, you don’t know me from the ass end of the Commonwealth.”

MacCready tilted his head up then went to the corner of the room and picked up the ornate vase sitting on the sideboard. “I see this, I see you scouring through fallen down houses and factories looking for your bits of junk. I’ve watched you fawn over a fucking painting whilst there are super mutants just around the corner. And you know what? This piece of junk doesn’t mean shit.” He threw it violently on the floor and it shattered across the room to Molly’s feet.

Molly stood back as the vase hurtled to the ground. She whimpered then swallowed hard. Her flight response began to kick in and her eyes darted around the room, but there was only one way out.

He went to the small table in the corner, one inlaid with what appeared to be delicate shell. “This too, this--“ He pushed it over and with a stomp of his boot it splintered into pieces. He picked up broken part of the leg and cracked it in two over his knee tossing each splinter to opposite sides of the room. “It’s all bullshit.”

She had seen MacCready angry before, but he never directed it at her. The veins on his neck continued to pulse and he flexed his fingers as he marched from one side of the room to the other. He was shaking his head and muttering.

A tingling sense rose in her fingers and toes and if MacCready hadn’t been standing directly in front of the door she might have fled then and there and not looked back. Her voice rose an octave higher and quivered in response to MacCready’s palpable anger. Nate would never have shouted at her like this. “I’m just trying to provide--“

He strode over to her and she took another step back and began to tremble. He tilted his head. “What, what are you trying to provide, Gould? Tell me, General.”

Molly licked her trembling lips and sniffed before crossing her arms over her chest. “I--I don’t know.” Her mind was racing. She turned her face away unable to reason or give him semblance of an answer. 

“Little luxuries, tapestries, nice carpets, vases and shit? These people need fresh water. They need food that doesn’t rot their gut, or worse, turn them to ghouls. They need a simple roof over their head that’s what they need and a safe space for their families. They don’t need this other shit.”

“They have all of that, fresh water, food, that’s what I’ve built.” She pushed the palms of her hands towards him, affronted at the suggestion that the necessities didn’t come first she wanted him to see the callouses and blisters after three days of hard work. “And this--” She picked up a small photo frame, in it, a sailboat on an open sea with a blue sky and a gull in the foreground. “This means something, it-- it can _mean_ something.”

“It means something to you, Gould, it means jack shit to everyone else. That’s not the life we live now. What fucking good is a fucking vase or a fucking ornate table, or a picture of boat when you’re worried about being murdered in your fucking sleep? Huh? Answer me that, General? It means fucking nothing - it’s gone.” He was pushing for an answer she couldn’t give, his voice still angry. “Your world--”, he made a levelling motion with both hands. “Is gone. You will never have what you had, Molly Gould, and if you are trying to give it to these settlers, unless they can eat it, drink it or it fires a bullet, they don’t fucking need it.”

Molly placed a hand over mouth, she was on the verge of angry tears. Her voice low and rumbling. “Get out. Get the fuck out.”

MacCready shook his head. “Oh no, I’m not running away, that’s your specialty. You know what’s a luxury? Do you? Really?” He began to pace again and Molly could only watch him, her eyes brimming with tears. “A true luxury in this place is having a safe space to sleep at night, where your family is safe. _That’s_ a fucking luxury in this world. And even when you think you’ve done the right thing by them this fucking life trips you up.” He moved suddenly towards her, she flinched as he swept past her and picked up her bag from the bed, she tried to grab it from him but he managed to throw it hard across the room. Caps and clothes scattered and the photo of Nate and Shaun fluttered to the ground.

Molly could not stop the tears then; they were hot on her cheeks as she gulped back a sob.

He stood in the middle of the room and picked up the photo. He shook his head and laughed.

She was shaking violently by this stage. “Give it to me. Give it to me now.” She begged and held out a trembling hand. “Give it to me.”

He looked at her, then the photo again. “See this,” he turned the photo to her but continued to move it as she tried to grab it. “Just look at it, Gould. Just fucking look.” He batted away her hand.

“MacCready give me the fucking photo now. Please, please.”

“No, not until you can see.”

Molly stood back “Please, that photo is my only--’

“Look how serene they are, Molly, asleep. You took this right? While they were sleeping?”

She swallowed and didn’t answer, instead she looked away. She didn’t want to witness his anger taken out on the only picture she had left of Nate and Shaun.

“Damn it, Gould, Look at it.” His tone softened. “Just look, please.”

She knew what he wanted her to see, it wasn’t just Nate and Shaun, it was something bigger, it was something she can never have again, and something that should be cherished for what it was, it should guide her not rule over her. She’d placed two hands over her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the sobbing.

“Please. Just look.” MacCready moved backwards until he hit the wall and he slid down until he was on the ground. His shoulders sagged his eyes downcast. He’d turned the photo back towards him. “They look safe. Were they safe?” His eyes turned up to hers pleading.

She looked up to see him defeated and limp. She wiped away tears and nodded.

“Good. Good. You were lucky to have that. Your loved ones, safe, able to sleep without fear.” MacCready’s bottom lip curled over the top and he was nodding. “You had that. You were lucky. Not my Lucy, not my Duncan. They never had that. I thought I could give it to them but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Molly moved back and slid on to the bed, she turned her head down and away. “Lucy, your wife-- you told me about her. But who is Duncan?” She stopped shaking, but her voice remained choked. Whatever fight and anger that Molly had seen manifest in MacCready had dissipated and along with it, her own. 

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Duncan is my son, Molly. And I stayed with you because I thought you could help us, and I’m here because I’m trying to be a better person for him.”

Molly felt her throat close up and a tight ball forming in her gut. Tears streamed into her mouth as she spoke. “You never said. How old is he? What does he look like? Why did you leave him?” She spluttered out the words wanting to know more. 

“I wasn’t sure when or how to ask you. I’ve asked a lot of you already. He’s old enough to know that his father can fail him. The other stuff--” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“And Lucy, you never said how Lucy died.” She rubbed her mouth, trying to take in this information. That he wasn’t just the lone mercenary trying to escape a previous life, a wife she understood, but a son? A whimper came out when she tried to stifle another sob. _A son._

“Lucy died because-- because I couldn’t keep her safe.” He pressed a forefinger and thumb into his closed eyes and remained silent.

Molly placed her face in her hands. She’d made a terrible mistake, assessed a man on barely a few words, on the fact because he was younger he had not lived some sort of rich life, she’d done something she accused others of doing far too often, she’d looked at the cover and not the pages inside. She thought there would be a book filled with naked pictures, innuendo, death and guns, whiskey and cigarettes, a callous youth only interested in caps and where he could next stick his dick. Instead what she found was man with a family like hers, with fears and emotions about what it meant to try and keep them safe, to live some sort of life in an unforgiving wasteland with death just around the corner. 

MacCready was right, pining for the past was not making it easier for her, she was running and hiding from it behind the mask of General of the Minutemen. Luxuries were for her, to make her feel good, give her a sense of how she lived before. However, neither they nor the good deeds she performed could bring back the past, or help her find Shaun.

She stood up and walked towards MacCready and sat down next to him, her shoulder leaning against his arm. He leaned against her in response. “Where is Duncan now?”

MacCready moved his hand from his face and drew one knee up and tapped a palm on his kneecap. “He’s safe, with others. But he’s ill and no one knows why.”

Molly didn’t look at him, instead she fiddled with the button on her shirt. “If Shaun were sick, if he was where your Duncan is, I would do anything, even leave him behind if I knew I could find a way to make him better.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Can I help?”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I knew you’d say that. It’s the reason I didn’t want to take the caps, I had another favour to ask.”

“Then ask, and let’s put the caps aside if and when we need them.”

He held the photo out in front of her. “Here. I would never have destroyed it you know.” He put his arm around her. “You would help me? Again?”

Molly nodded. She felt too raw to truly embrace him, his anger had scared her, but given her attitude and behaviour she wasn’t sure she could blame him for that. She hoped she would not see that again, there was enough things to be scared of, to have that from someone close would be too much. There would be plenty of time to heal from that, for now they had settled and she understood. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake, I thought-- I misjudged you, I thought you were just-- just--” She sighed.

“Just another mercenary looking for easy caps and if he can get it, more?”

She nodded again and wiped her face of remnant tears with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I can hardly blame you. Trusting people here can be fuc-- argh, can be dangerous. But I trust you, I think from the moment I laid eyes on you. And after Winlock and Barnes, I couldn’t leave, not until--”

“Is that why you took the job?” She put a hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat as it slowed down, his breath easing with each furtive glance at one another.

“I took it for a number of reasons, but yeah.”

“It seems we both have a lot of shitty things happening or have happened in our lives. Why not ask someone else, someone a little-- more together than me?”

He looked down to her. “General, I don’t think I’ve met anybody in this whole damn Commonwealth with their sh-- with their stuff together and, despite what you think, you’re more trustworthy than the whole of Diamond City and Goodneighbor put together.”

“I’m sorry. For a lot of things it seems. What’s your favour to ask? What can I do to help you and Duncan?”

He waved his hands and then reached for the packet of cigarettes. “You’re forgiven.” He lit the cigarette and waved the smoke away. “I know you hate this, but given the circumstances.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

He sniffed loudly. “Duncan is sick, has been for a while but I think I know where there might be something to help him. But it’s overrun. Last time I tried I almost died. If it wasn’t for the few friends I have in Goodneighbor who helped me when I crawled back there, I doubt I would have lived.”

Molly hugged him and he kissed the top of her head. She just wanted to get things right for the people she helped, she would double her efforts on the basics, cut back on the luxuries. People needed to feel safe first, that meant food, water, a place to sleep. Every other little thing would come second or not at all. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what? Throwing your vase and breaking it?”

“For being right. It’s junk, but I think I can admit now it was all for me, and not for anyone else. Baby steps.” Her voice was clear, determined. Her hands began to tremble again, not out of fear or nervousness but exhilaration that she could leave something so negative behind. 

“I’m still not going to lug that junk around for you.”

She laughed, soft and low, with a warm undertone. “I know.”

“What next?” he asked.

She sat silent for a moment. She knew what he asked, but she needed time to ponder that aspect, for now it would be action, other decisions could come later.

“We head to wherever this cure is, we get it and we make sure Duncan receives the treatment he needs. I won’t send you away without my help.”

“And then?”

“If I help you with Duncan, will you help me find Shaun?”

A small choir of voices could be heard through the window, new settlers were arriving, and Molly looked to MacCready, searching his face for an unspoken answer. 

MacCready stood and offered Molly his hand. “Come on, General, there’s work to be done.”

A waft of gun oil and powder hit her nose and she felt a flutter in her chest. Molly could feel the callouses at his fingertips and the softness of his palm. For a man of smaller stature his hands were large by comparison, and she realised then that they embodied everything, he could hold up the world for her.


	5. White noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready reflects, and makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks to Thievinghippo for the beta!

MacCready knew the way to Med-Tek as well as the veins that stood out on the back of his hand. Each route throbbed and pulsed each time he travelled this way and when he passed the building for the 100th time, he finally entered and almost never came out.

Today their pace on one of those routes was slow; there had been one too many raiders and one too many mutants on the faster routes and the bugs on the one he travelled most frequently were huge this time of year. It was this way or risk having little ammo by the time they arrived. They stayed close to buildings, scrambled over rubble, hid and slinked behind thick clumps of bush that scratched their skin and ripped their clothes. In-between the scrambling, the hiding and slinking, there was little time to chat or to ruminate on the recent events that occurred between him and Molly. That was a good thing, he didn’t like the inevitable downer that came with too much talk or too much reflection.

He had to admit it though, if only to himself, that he was falling for her. At first he thought his feelings had played to his sensibilities of wanting to protect; she exuded that same air of gullibility and vulnerability he'd seen in many Little Lamplighters. He knew she was smart but she could barely handle a gun and physically she was soft. Any age gap between them melted into the mire of her inexperience in death and constant danger. 

Then he stopped and listened to her, and what he heard was full of the experience he lacked. Intellect her weapon, she fired conversation, words, not bullets, her ammo. The Gunners were never good at that, and he began to question his motives towards her. He knew he was falling when he found he liked the way she whispered in his ear how filthy he was, then kissed him like she didn't care. When he liked how she ran her hands through his hair when his face was buried between her legs. When he liked how she moaned when she came, like a whimper between pleasure and pain. But most of all when he liked the way his name sounded on her lips and he wanted to hear it again and again.

However, any admission like that, filled his head with hissing noises, as if he was listening to a radio broadcast not in tune with the station. So he held the thoughts close and despite the outpouring to her about Duncan, he thought it better to go back the way it was where he’d been here just for the caps, get rid of that white noise that clouded this job. She needed his gun and his eyes, this thing with Med-Tek? Just a favour, right? He didn’t want this to get any more complicated, knowing the anger he unleashed on her was due in part to watching her cling to the past, one that didn't involve him. So best push that away, and if that meant no longer sharing her bed, so be it.

It was late afternoon and the sun formed long shadows on the road. They found a promising spot to bunk for the night, an attic in a derelict house. Molly pointed to the covered entrance and when MacCready poked his head through the hole into the room he could see that one side had a gaping hole ripped into the side. You could see right across the river. However, there was section of the room still protected they could huddle there and they wouldn’t get wet if it rained. “This place,” he said, “should be alright for the night.”

She nodded in agreement and climbed up after him.

After dragging a chair across the access in the floor, he dug in his pack for some cram and offered it to her when he’d opened it. She shook her head and brought out a can of pork and beans.

He sat and watched her slowly put each mouthful in and chew like there was no flavour. She looked exhausted and her eyes closed a little too long between blinks. He put the cram down, the gritty canned meat tasted drier than usual. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just, you know, tired.” Her voice was quiet and she slumped as she continued to eat listlessly.

He picked up the cram and began eating again. “General, are we good?” He asked between mouthfuls. This job would go easier if he knew they remained on good terms.

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He had wanted a simple answer, a yes preferably and now it was as if he loaded a gun and fired without thinking, he was good at that. That white noise returned and he put the cram down again, scratched the back of his neck with one finger and sighed. “After the other day, I mean. I just wanted to say-- I don’t normally-- I just -- I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Ahh, okay that’s what you mean. Yes, we’re good MacCready.” She dug her fork back into the can and took another mouthful without looking at him.

He wasn’t convinced, and pressed the point. “Cos you’d tell me, right?” He looked at her wanting her to meet his eyes, wanting her to tell him his concern was unfounded, that she wasn't scared of him and theirs was nothing but a business transaction.

She sighed and put the can down in front of her. “Not necessarily. I’d probably send you back to one of the settlements and not even talk about it later. Why, are you worried about that?”

“Nah.” He waved his hand and shook his head no. “But, you know, I see you flinching from me, and I don’t want that, I don’t-- I don’t want to be like every other asshole merc in this goddamn place, be someone scary that is.” He wanted to add ‘not to you or anyone I care about’, if she could be scared of him, could Duncan also? However, that would be too many tells than he was comfortable with and he clenched his jaw in frustration. He rubbed his brow and looked away then cracked his neck to one side hoping that she wouldn’t notice the sad puppy act he had just thrown her way.

“Oh, I see.” She picked up a small lantern that sat on its side in the corner and lit it without saying anything else.

“But you know, it’s okay. Maybe if we go back to being--” He coughed. “More professional in our relationship.” He didn't look at her. He'd made his mind up this how it should be and knowing her reaction would risk that white noise become a thundering rumble. He shrugged and dug into his bag for cigarettes before heading to the hole in the wall and looking out across the river. He didn’t need her to like him, he was here for caps remember, and she needn't be here to help him, that was purely her choice; however grateful he might be. He blew smoke and it drifted with the light breeze coming up from below.

“Never the twain,” she said quietly from behind him.

He turned to see her writing in a small diary something he'd seen her do from time to time and he scratched his chin curious as to what it might be. “Sorry, what?”

“I was only thinking the other day, If you’d been in my time, you’d be off doing fun things with people your own age, and I’d be stuck in my suburban working Mom lifestyle. Never the two shall meet.”

“Oh, I guess. But we could have.” What sort of life would have it have been for him? Would he have been smarter, drink and smoke less? Would Lucy be alive? Would Duncan be happy and well? What kind of father would he have been had they not had to fight for their very existence? Or would he and Lucy have never met, where he was the mouthy kid that her parents would try to keep her away from?

“Even if the circumstances contrived it so, I doubt I would be worth a second look.” She gave a quiet laugh.

She was wrong, he couldn't let that pass even if she had done it in an effort of self deprecating humour. “What are you talking about, General? You are so worth a second look. In any century.” He blew smoke rings in her direction and put a smug smile on his face.

She gave another quiet laugh. “Flatterer.”

He winked, turned back and gazed over the river. With no wind and a dull light from a nearby campfire he could see reflections of light on its black, glassy surface. “You think I’d be a shallow person, living that lifestyle?”

There was silence and his eyes darted back to her thinking that she’d say yes, but not wanting to hear it. If he could only stop his brain from loading questions into his mouth he might not once again be clenching his jaw

“I don’t think so. From what you’ve told me you took up the mantle of responsibility when you were what, ten? You saw injustice at the hands of others and you tried to make it easier for the other children. That’s not the personality of someone who’s shallow or vain. I just think--” She stood and walked over to where he was standing. “If our roles were reversed, if you were a man out of time and an older one at that, I doubt you would have done half the dumb things I have.”

He tossed the cigarette through the hole and turned to gently touch her arm. He breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t flinch, she merely closed her eyes and leaned into him. His jaw relaxed and the white noise dissipated. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, General. You do just fine. Even when you’re collecting all that junk. Besides I’m pretty sure my fu-- my stuff ups outweigh yours.” He took his hand away and was surprised to recognise disappointment sitting next to fatigue in her eyes. He could hear a click register amongst the quiet; his brain loading another question to fire. “You, go sleep. We got a long day ahead tomorrow,” he said.

She didn’t argue, simply nodded and returned to the other side of the room laid her pack out and a placed her head down.

He took out another cigarette and lit it, once again blowing rings into the air. He could hear her shallow breaths against the still night air.  
\---

When she had first approached him in the Third Rail he’d been halfway to inebriation and halfway to hell. He’d just run off the two biggest assholes in the Gunners and he wasn’t looking for more shit. He remembered the smell that drifted in after her; he expected just another Wastelander smelling of sweat against the backdrop of stale cigarettes, caps, gun smoke, sex or alcohol, the usual stink in the back room, but instead it was a light floral scent and it caught him off guard.

Through a faint haze of alcohol he thought she looked unreal. Like the cover of a comic he read when he was fourteen. “Astoundingly Awesome tales.” Or something like it. He’d stared at that cover - a woman in a red revealing dress, long flowing dark auburn hair, for a long time, over a year he reckoned. This woman though, she wasn’t wearing a dress, her face was pointed and freckled and her hair bright ginger and barely down to her shoulders. Despite the armor she wore, it was the curve of the jumpsuit that stood out, bright blue fabric under rusting metal. At the side of the chest piece he could see generous hips falling into a pinched waist and if she had been wearing that red dress instead of armour covering her breasts, there would have been much more to ogle. Then he remembered hearing rumours about a woman who walked out of a vault and out of time itself and he realised this was her.

She’d asked a lot of questions, never heard of the Gunners, and wanted to know the men who were speaking to him with raised voices. He’d been abrupt with her, pay with caps and he’d be her hired gun and answer any of her questions, within reason. She had smiled and bargained him down like a pro. She looked soft though, not like the other vault dweller he met back during his time in Little Lamplight. That one had been scary - not enough to scare him of course, but compared with this vault dweller, a whole different kettle of fish. She’d told him her name was Molly Gould and they’d be travelling to a place called Sanctuary Hills. He’d taken the two hundred she offered, his bluff worked, he would have done it for less than that amount.

Their first night on the road had them had holed up somewhere similar to where they were now. An attic of a house that sat on the edge of a small lake. She’d disappeared just before sunset into the bush - he assumed to go pee, only to have her run screaming half-dressed scrabbling up the attic ladder ten minutes later.

“What the hell are those things? Are they crabs? Are they mutant crabs?”

“You mean the mirelurks?”

“I don’t know what they are, but they--“

There had been a hole in the wall in that place too and MacCready remembered looking towards the lake and seeing a cluster of juveniles, easily dispensed with a large stick or a steel capped boot. And he had started laughing, loud whooping snorts that rang out through the house and down to the lake itself.

“They’re just the babies, they wouldn’t harm you.” He had dismissed her fear with a wave.

“You’re kidding me?” she replied.

“It’s the ma and pa's you got watch out for - they’re nasty.” He then had realised she was half-dressed. That had been the first time he’d seen her bare shoulders, dotted with hundreds of freckles set against a background of fair skin. Her chest too. He couldn’t look away and had continued to stare even when her cheeks and flesh around her neck flushed crimson.

“You never told me not too--” she had said as she hastily pulled the arms up over her and zipped up the suit.

“Not too what? I thought you were going to pee, not wash yourself. Stay away from the river, the pond, the ocean. At dusk is the worst time to go down to any water source, Princess. Only bad things come out of the water that time of day. The worst thing is you can’t see them coming.” He sniffed and started laughing again.

The look on her face had been one that he would soon become familiar, a slight scowl, a warning that he was treading on thin ice. “Are you calling me precious? I was just wanting to wash--”

He had shaken his head. “You can’t keep clean on the road, that’s something you’ll have to get used to, Princess.” He’d continued to laugh and reached in his bag for some whiskey, he offered her some and she turned her back on him. “Suit yourself, but you’ll sleep better.” She hadn't known that ‘Princess’ would be the worst insult he could ever level at her. He’d stayed awake as she slept.

Throughout that next day he’d watch as she clumsily walked from one building to another. The entire time picking through cupboards, closets, boxes, and a whole pile of other shitty little containers. A wrench here, a spyglass there, an old book or a tube of glue, the only time he was interested was when she bent over something and he could see her ass or she picked up a horde of caps, ammo, cigarettes or a bottle of something. Junk for fuck knows what. He’d told her he wouldn’t be lugging it around for her, that wasn’t his job. She had made him do it anyway.

That night, in a basement, she’d offered to stay awake, as he had done the night before. He acquiesced to her request. However, he kept one eye open throughout the night. Caps could buy you his gun, his service, even a request to carry your junk, but it never brought you his trust.  
\---  
_“What happened? James you little fucking shit, what happened?” MacCready felt blood in his mouth and his vision clouded. If that little shit had broken the elevator again he was gonna thump his hide. “James?”_

_The pain that shot through his leg made him cry out. He looked around to see rubble and rockfall and as the dust cleared several people came running towards him. “Motherfucker in a vault suit.” He passed out before they reached him._

_When he woke he realised he was now in the clinic - lying in the infirmary and when he looked down he could see his leg in a splint and covered with bandages. He felt dizzy and thirsty and when he tried to sit upright, nauseous too._

_“He’s awake!” It was Connor, covered in dust and a scratch on his head. “Oh you had us worried, MacCready.”_

_“Don’t try to sit up, dummy,” Lucy pushed MacCready back down on the table._

_“Where the motherlovingfuck is Red?” he replied and tried to sit up again._

_“Red left ages ago, RJ, she’s in Big Town now. It’s just me. Remember?”_

_“What happened?”_

_“Cave-in. Rocks hit your head and smashed your leg up real good. Good thing I was here otherwise you’d be hopping out of here minus a leg.”_

_“What--”_

_Lucy shook her head. “I’ll tell you when you’re a little less-- dazed. Just lie down.”_

_“Whose fucking fault was it?”_

_“It was no one's fault, RJ. We live in a cave, apparently these things happen.”_

_“I knew that.” He sniffed then winced._

_“Uh-huh.”_

_“My leg? Why has it got all those bandages?”_

_“It’s smashed, good and proper. I had to set it while you were asleep. Skin around its pretty clean, you’ll heal okay.”_

_“Maybe someone should go get, Red.”_

_“MacCready, you’ll be okay and no, no one is leaving Little Lamplight to go get Red.”_

_“I feel like I’m gonna puke.”_

_Lucy motioned for Connor to bring a bucket over. She held his head as he vomited. “You’ll be alright, RJ.”_

_He spat saliva into the bucket and then laid back on the gurney. “Will I?”_

_Lucy stroked his forehead. “Yeah. Dumb ass.”_

\---  
He woke with a start, an explosion from across the river had jolted him. Molly, too, had sat bolt upright.

“What the hell?” she exclaimed.

MacCready walked over to the hole in the wall. “Just a car exploding, probably raiders fighting--“ his voice was suddenly drowned out by the appearance of a helicopter over the water. He picked up his gun and looked through the scope to see what was going on. “Gunners.”

“Do they know we're here?” she asked.

“No, but, to be safe we'll just stay out of their way.” He moved over and blew out the lantern. “They’re opportunist scum, let’s not give them a reason to come looking for us.” His gut started churning. He knew they had no idea that it was him involved with Winlock and Barnes, but it still made him uneasy seeing them around.

They both sat down in the dark, close enough that a hint of her light floral scent wafted under his nose. As his eyes adjusted to the reduced light he saw her shadow scoot across the floor and press against him.

“You’ll be alright, General,” he said and put an arm around her.

“I know,” she replied. “But, will you?”

He didn't answer. There were moments in time where he’d sought reassurance, where comfort was gained from reliance on others. He couldn't ask for it now no matter how tempting it was packaged. His mind had to be clear, for Duncan. Would he be alright? Given his thought processes over the last day, surrounded by white noise, hell if he knew.


	6. The first steps to love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly begins to have confidence in herself and her choices, but she's unsure that MacCready feels the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to [Thievinghippo](http://thievinghippo.tumblr.com/) for the much appreciated beta'ing and discussion about our mutual obsession.

_"Only once," Molly said._

_"Really, only once?" he replied, raising one dark eyebrow._

_"Yeah, I mean, no need for giant pumpkin to fire a gun is there? Especially given she could shoot someone in the foot." She gave him a nervous laugh and averted her gaze from his inky dark brown eyes._

_"It's Halloween. And Thanksgiving in a couple of weeks. It's a very dangerous time for pumpkins. Especially human sized ones," he said without a smile. "Obviously you're not a pumpkin to be messed with, with or without a gun.”_

_“I don’t know about that.” She gave him a broad smile._

_“I hope you're enjoying the party then." He rubbed at his chin that showed the ragged beginnings of a beard on a sun tanned face. He held his cup up. "Excuse me." He walked over towards the punch bowl and towards Martina, the pretty blonde with the model good looks._

_Molly frowned, she didn't wait to see if he stopped. Men always stopped for Martina. She walked into the kitchen where her two friends, Karen and Davina were laughing and giggling._

_They turned to her and saw her disappointed smile. "Oh, Molly. What happened?" Her friend Karen grimaced and laid a hand on her shoulder._

_"Crashed and burned. What do you expect wearing this?" Molly ran her hand over the bright orange fabric and tapped on the brim of the matching orange top hat._

_"Hey, you're a sexy pumpkin, you have the legs for it. Besides you left it to the last minute to say yes to coming, you're lucky you didn't get the shapeless can of beer costume Hetty's now wearing." Karen pointed to Hetty Jarvis standing in the corner chatting with one of the party hosts._

_"This is pretty shapeless, guys." She looked down at her legs. "I do have the legs for it though don't I? Just the orange, with my complexion."_

_"You do, and you have gorgeous coloring Molly. I'm envious; at least you don't look like a mouse." Davina said and pulled at a strand of her hair. "I need to blonde up a bit."_

_"And as long as you didn't tell him that stupid gun story--" Molly held out her hands in a plaintive manner as Karen stared at her. "No. Molly." Karen shook her head._

_"You didn't?" Davina said._

_Molly nodded, and grabbed a bottle of vodka sitting on a nearby counter and filled her cup close to the brim. "What was I supposed to say? We were talking about being in the military and naturally, the topic of guns came up. He asked me what guns I preferred."_

_"You lie, Molly. C’mon." Karen rubbed a hand across her forehead and then motioned them back into the crowded living room_

_"I'm not very good at lying. Anyway--" She contemplated the overfilled cup before downing half of it. The medicine like liquor burned as it slipped easily down her throat. She closed her eyes until the sting of it passed and followed the group into the living room. "Perhaps I should just go home."_

_“No, you don't, there's at least five other soldier boys here, one maybe a bit younger and not so bothered by silly stories. Have a bit of fun. Martina can't get her talons into all of them." Davina said as she beckoned a sandy haired man dressed as a skeleton over._

_"I think it's a pretty funny story." Molly pouted and crossed her arms._

_“To a soldier? I don’t think so. I mean they’re pretty serious about that side of things,” Davina said._

_"Hello ladies, enjoying the party?" the sandy haired man said._

_"How do you know so many soldiers, Keith?" Karen asked._

_"I’ve ingratiated myself with Boston Municipal infantry. I intend joining up myself now I'm 21. You know even if you were never a cadet they will take you, and they’re looking for recruits." He pointed to each of them. "You lot, they're looking for both men and women." He frowned at Molly. "Except-- you need to be a good shot."_

_"Oh haa haa, Keith." Molly gave him a fake smile._

_"Hey, I thought you didn't mind being ribbed on that?"_

_"Molly just nosedived telling that story to one on your soldier friends." Karen said._

_"You didn't? Which one?" Keith looked around._

_Molly pointed to the man not in dress up, he wore jeans and a pale blue t-shirt and he was talking to two other men without costumes. Martina was nowhere to be seen. "That's the guy."_

_Keith looked over. "That's-- Neill I think. Nice guy, really nice, friend of Mitch's." Keith pointed to Mitch Hollingway who was dressed as a devil. “He ditched you, Molly?"_

_She nodded. "Obviously he didn't find my first time holding a gun story anywhere near as hilarious as others seem to find it." She elbowed Keith in the side. "Anyway, how old is he?"_

_"Twenty eight or nine I think. Uh-oh, I think he’s checking your butt out Molly." Keith laughed._

_Molly turned to see him glance in her direction but then back to one of the men speaking. “Oh he is not.” She slapped Keith on the side of the arm._

_"Ah just as well, that's like 7 year age gap,” Davina said. “Looks a bit scruffy too.”_

_Molly didn't think either of those mattered. Age was always a state of mind not an actual number. People often said she had an old head on her shoulders, but she had never dated an older guy and the thought that she might be the subject of gossip about it was the only thing that turned her off the idea._

_“That's nothing, I mean women are supposed to be more mature than guys." Karen said._

_"Hey, I'm standing right here." Keith said and frowned._

_"Not you sweetie." Davina kissed his cheek._

_"Anyway, in dog years it's only one year," Keith added._

_"And who's the dog in this scenario?" Karen asked her hands now on her hips._

_Molly put her hand on Karen's arm and began to laugh. She stared at the rapidly dwindling liquid in her cup and took a swig._

_"You never said whether your Dad was okay,” a voice said from behind her. Molly sputtered as everyone turned to look at the man known as Neill then to Molly._

_Karen, Davina and Keith looked to one another and stepped back. Molly wiped her mouth, and laughed. "Ahh yeah, he was okay, his foot was a bit of a mess for a while but nothing permanent. We laughed about it a lot -- after.”_

_“Good.” This time he smiled when he replied._

_Karen, Davina and Keith discreetly moved away and began to talk in their own circle._

_“He never took me to the firing range again though." She stared into his eyes. She resisted the sudden alcohol fuelled urge to run her hands through his scruffy dark hair. The fact he came back to her after she thought he had slighted her was enough to quicken her pulse. "We were talking before, I didn’t tell you my name, it’s Molly."_

_He extended his hand. "That was rude of me. Nice to meet you, Molly. I'm Nate, Nate Gould."_

* * *

 Molly stood back and took a deep breath. "So this is it?"

MacCready nodded. "Yeah this is it."

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"It's got to be. Sinclair had to be onto something. I made it-- I made it as far as the foyer last time before I-- well, before I realised it was a bad idea to come here alone."

"What can I expect?" She grabbed a weapon from her pack.

"Ghouls, and lots of them. You're gonna need something other than that though." He pointed to the weapon, a sniper rifle now held tight in her hands.

"What do you think I should use?"

He took the gun from her hand and fished out a shotgun from the pack. "This." It also had a bayonet attached.

"Oh shit.” She stroked her brow. “They’ll get that close," she said as an exclamation rather than a question.

"Not wanting to back out now?" There was a nervous edge to his voice, and his eyes bore into her when he asked.

She shook her head. "No, I'm just not that go--"

"Good with guns. Yes I know." He sighed and looked towards the entrance, as they remained crouched behind a stone fence.

Molly almost stopped herself from asking, but she wanted to know, _she needed to know._ "You really couldn't get someone better than me, MacCready? Especially someone better with guns?"

"I think anyone in the Commonwealth is better than you with guns. But there is no one I trust more to watch my back." He squeezed her shoulder. "You'll be okay, General. Just watch, and follow me. I'll take the lead."

She gave him an unconvinced nod. She would do her best, she just hoped that meant they would both come out alive. The close encounter with a ghoul in an old music shop less than three weeks ago made butterflies flutter anew. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes a second longer in a blink.

MacCready loaded his rifle and aimed. She could learn from him. His hold on the handle, the way it nestled into his arm, how he took a breath and then stilled as he aimed and fired. One shot, a ghoul off to the side on its own downed with one bullet. The second and third, their fate was the same. There were two more close together and she knew he wouldn't get two off before the second ghoul would be alerted and come running towards them.

She readied her shotgun and took a deep breath. He fired two shots and laughed. He'd managed to get both. Molly sighed with relief. They stood and walked unhindered to the door of Med-Tek.

"Last chance, General," MacCready said.

“If you think I’m worried and scared, I am. If you think I can’t do this for you, then you should be the one to tell me now.” She stared into his eyes, lost in the blue and looking for an answer.

He maintained eye contact with her, took her hand in his, and squeezed while giving her a one-sided smile. She could have sworn that she felt the heat from his hand even though she wore gloves.

She returned the squeeze .

Inside, the foyer was a mess, the reception desk pulled over and litter and skeletons populated desks and offices. Filaments of dust filled the air, illuminated by cracks in the wall and from broken skylights above. The smell was dirty and musty, scents of soaked cardboard and fetid human remains of dead ghouls assaulted their noses. MacCready sneezed. Off to the side they climbed over several pieces of furniture to investigate the offices. Inside one, they found a terminal.

“Not much here MacCready,” Molly said as she tapped into the main list of items on the terminals front page. “The building is still in lockdown. We need to find the right terminal, this one won’t give us anything.”

“Let’s keep going.” He pressed a button on a nearby elevator. “Damn it. We’ll have to navigate the stairs.”

Molly resisted the urge to pick up more junk aside from an aid kit. That wasn’t the reason why they were here and she couldn’t afford to let her guard down given that MacCready had almost lost his life here.

They made their way to a second terminal, one that led to the sub level. “This is the way to the labs so now we look elsewhere to get this unlocked.” He pointed to the stairs. “This way. Sinclair said we might find a terminal in one of the upper offices.”

They came across their first ghouls inside the building, easily pot shotted them in the head before they even realised they were there. An open work space with a mezzanine, wasn’t so easy. Ghouls lumbered towards them, grunting. When they were detected a rush came at them and Molly crouched low from behind. MacCready managed to pick most of them off or incpacitate them and Molly used the bayonet to finish them off.

“Nice one, General. See you are learning.” He nodded and smiled.

She lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back his praise making her stand taller and push her heart rate up. “We’ve a whilst to go yet, MacCready.”

They easily cleared several offices of ghouls until they came to one of the exec terminals. “Here, this passcode better work. Otherwise--“

She nodded and typed on the terminal. “It worked. That-- was simple.”

“Thank god. One step closer. Back to that terminal for the sub-basement. I don’t think that will be so easy.” A pessimistic tone permeated his voice and his brow wrinkled with concern.

The battle to get to the lab was harder than anticipated. More than once she had fallen and a ghoul had come right at her face. The twisted features, decaying skin and the smell made her gag. The bayonet had been the best addition to the shotgun, if it hadn’t been for that she might have been torn apart.

MacCready, of course, was skilled to down them as quick as they came, the odd one was left for Molly to clean up. When they came in hordes it could be deadly for a single person, fighting in tandem felt not only safe but oddly exhilarating. Her heartbeat slowed with each shell that fell into the putrid mess of the feral ghouls. Maybe she was learning after all.

MacCready fired at the turret in the hall down to the lab, a pop and a fizzle marked its death that finalised with a mechanical whine. Several more ghouls were around the corner and emerged to the sound of the gunfire.

Molly worked on the terminal hearing the grunts and moans from the ghouls as they ran towards them. “Almost there, get ready, I don’t think it’s going to be empty.”

“Ready, General,” he said as he popped the final ghoul in the hallway.

The clunk of the maglocks releasing thudded in her ear and gave the impression that it was taking forever. Molly felt her insides quiver slightly and her heart begin to race again, troughs and peaks of adrenaline the order of the day. She picked her gun and gripped it tight. The door opened to reveal a half dozen or more ghouls.

“A glowing one, shi--” MacCready pumped several bullets into the ghouls as they turned their attentions to them.

She followed with a volley of shot gun blast from behind, the speed of her reloads surprising even her. One, two, three, and the rad counts beeped on her pip boy. Four, five six, more rads counted and the glowing one still alive.

On a beat a ghoul got close enough for MacCready to knock back and several more pumps of her gun saw blood and brains splash onto their boots.

There was only the glowing one left, and it closed in on Molly. Her gun jammed as the ghoul grew nearer. A blast from MacCready’s gun sailed past her head, then another and the glowing one was down less than a metre from her. Aside from the ringing in her ears there were no other sounds of ghouls to be heard. Molly bent at the waist to catch her breath. Sweat that was a simple film before now began to drip down her temples. She could feel the damp under her arms warm and moist. She blinked back the sweat and gave herself a satisfied smile.

MacCready was laughing. “You okay, General?”

She gave him the thumbs up and reached for some water in her pack. She passed it to him when she’d taken her fill.

He downed the rest of the flask and flung it empty to one side as he kicked the corpses aside. “It’s here somewhere, you start over there,” he said in a voice steady and lowered in pitch. He pointed to a bunch of shelves on the back wall.

They began their search through the ruined laboratory mindful of broken glass beakers and test-tubes, rusted metals of stands and Bunsen burners. Sheets of paper with formulas and writing torn from labbooks were scattered over benches and floors.

Molly could hear MacCready muttering from the other side of the room. "It's not here, it's not here."

"MacCready," she said.

“And Sinclair said it was boils. It's got to be here and the same thing. It’s got to be." He picked up a small box shook it and threw it to one side.

"MacCready," she repeated.

“I've got to find it, he had to be right.” There was a growing panic in the tone of his voice.

"MacCready," she shouted this time and walked back over to him picking up the box and looking inside.

“Why isn’t it here?” He gave her a plaintive look then scanned his eyes around the room.

“Robert,” she said softly this time.

He stopped, turned and blinked at her, his gaze dancing behind her and to the side.

“MacCready, listen to me. I know junk. You’ve spent our entire time together chastising me for it. Let me look, stop throwing things around. If the cure is here I will find it, I know I will.” She looked once again into his blue eyes, this time not searching, instead she gave him the reassurance he needed. “Trust me. If it’s here I’ll find it.” Her voice was steady and firm.

His eyes focussed and he nodded without reply.

She motioned to a nearby chair. “Sit and watch, just in case we have any visitors.” Molly began her search. She partitioned off the room into segments and searched each one thoroughly, making sure not to go over the same ground twice. Cupboards and benches were packed with medical equipment and what looked to be untested serums in large syringes. Partially closed boxes had bandages and swabs and containers of medical grade alcohol . It didn’t take long to find it amongst everything else. It was sitting underneath a clipboard on the main bench in the middle of the room. She turned to him with the widest of grins. “Soldier, I think I have it.”

He looked intently at her and his eyes widened. “Holy crap, we did it! Duncan has a fighting chance now.” He stared at the cure sitting in her hand and then gazed up to her face with a grateful smile. “I don’t know how to pay you back for this.”

A bitter smile rose to her face. What had they just been through? This was not-- not about payment or payback. “It’s not about receipts, MacCready. I did it to help your son.”

He looked her up and down. “I know. I’m just not used to this kind of thing. Maybe I’ll realise one day you’re different.”

She wanted then and there to tell him she was, to poke him and say yes, scream it to the walls if she had too. He had been telling her she was underestimating herself, that she was more than she gave herself credit for, to throw this back at her felt like a reversion on this opinion of her. It put a sour note to an otherwise successful search. Doubts about everything he told her she could do started to cloud her mind once again. Did he too feel her lack of skills as keenly as she did herself? That he didn’t trust her or her competence? She tried to find the words, but was left biting her tongue.

MacCready shuffled his feet in her silence. "Sorry to drag you through all of this only to come out with nothing, no junk or anything useful.” His fingers were restless on his gun. “There’s one more thing."

“What is it?” The words came out harsher than intended and she saw a quizzical look pass over his face.

“We need to get this cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor. She can get it to Duncan and she’s the only one I trust.”

Her brow furrowed. “You won’t take it yourself?” Surprise tainted her voice. Duncan was his son, why did he not want to make sure it would be delivered safely to him?

“Duncan is in good hands, I’ll see him soon. I-- just. I know you want an explanation but now’s not the time.” He shook his head.

“This is as good a time as any.” She shook her head confused. If it were Shaun she would want to be the person to safeguard the delivery. In a heartbeat, she’d leave everyone else behind, the only hindrance being how fast she could run.

“It’s just not the time,” he said in a resolute manner and cast his eyes downward and away from hers.

She rubbed a hand over her mouth. “Okay, um-- we’ll get it to Daisy then. Don’t worry.”

They began their return to the foyer. MacCready grabbed at the sleeve of her coat. “If you want to pick up some junk, I’ll even carry it for you.” He made a half attempt at a laugh.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and the bitter smile reappeared. “I thought I saw some things in the offices upstairs that might be useful.”

“Lead on then, General.”

She looked back tentatively at him as they made their way through the maze of upstairs offices. He was quiet as he watched her pick up, scrutinise and either pack away or discard various bits and pieces. Whenever she looked up his eyes were on her and smiling.

After several rooms, Molly thought she had what she needed and they headed towards the entrance.

“Hey,” MacCready said as they were about to exit. “Did you call me Robert earlier?”

Her brow creased, worried that he might have found offence in her remark. “Yes, I think I did. But, don’t worry it was just to get your attention.”

* * *

_"Here, your stance is all wrong.” Nate placed his hands on Molly’s waist. “Twist a bit to the left.”_

_His hands gripped her unreasonably tight and she couldn’t help giggling._

_“Now stop that. This is serious business, Miss,” he said with a smirk._

_“Of course, of course.” She suppressed another laugh._

_“Now bring the rifle up, the butt should sit high and into your body. Now you can aim. You can close one eye if it makes it any easier.” Nate’s voice was patient and steady._

_Molly closed one eye as she looked through the scope. She could see the target, an outline of a man with a series of circles within. The gun felt heavy and cumbersome even when tucked in tight to her shoulder as if it could easily slip from her grasp._

_“When you’re ready, you can fire.”_

_She lined up the target and pressed the trigger. The gun went off and reverberated hard against her right breast. She winced. “Ow.”_

_“You okay?” Nate said with concerned tone._

_“I didn’t think it would do that. Ow--” She rubbed the edge of her breast._

_“You’ll get used to it.”_

_She set the gun down and gazed up at him biting her lip. “I’m not sure about this, Nate. I--I don’t know-- I don’t know if I want to.” Her voice was laced with anxiety._

_He caressed the side of her face and gave her a reassuring smile. He picked up a set of binoculars. “But you have such great aim. See.”_

_She took the binoculars and looked at the target. There were no holes in her target paper. But there was one in the paper of the stall over. She turned to face him. “Oh blast, I wasn’t even aiming at the right target.” She clenched her jaw tight in frustration. “How many times can you show me how to do this? You have the patience of a saint, Lieutenant Gould.”_

_He sniggered. “It’s okay, Molly. Some of us weren’t meant to be soldiers.” He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re much better with words and you’re an intelligent woman. I bet you could talk your way out of a fight.” Nate released her from the embrace abnd picked up the gun to check the remaining shots._

_“Maybe, I’m hoping never to find out.”_

_“Let’s hope that’s the case. But just in case maybe some smaller arms would be suitable. Something that fits into your bra perhaps?”_

_“Not like there would be room, now?” she chuckled. “That sounds like some noir detective story. Pulling out a gun from my lacy under things or better yet a garter.” She elbowed him in the side._

_Nates mood turned serious. “Molly, the world's changing. I love you and I want you to be safe. You need to know the basics. In case of emergency.”_

_“Well, if I must, but I’m a lost cause.” She shrugged and leaned up for a kiss._

_“Yes, you must.” He pecked at her mouth with soft short kisses. “I trust you to get it right, soon to be Mrs Gould.”_

_“Thank you soldier, I’m glad someone has faith in me.”_

_“Always.”_

* * *

They were silent for most of the trip back to Goodneighbor. MacCready seemed relaxed, making small jokes here and there but Molly was too lost in her own thoughts, about what to do next. She tried to put aside her current feelings about him. It would have to be what it would be. Now her concern was Shaun and Kellog’s memories had meant a previous trip into a highly irradiated area. She had taken Nick with her and a return to Virgil would mean taking either him or Strong. MacCready might not want to follow.

“MacCready, I’ve realised the next step of finding Shaun might be too dangerous for both of us to go.”

He furrowed his brow. “Really? I mean after what we just did?”

“I’m to return to Virgil in the Glowing Sea.”

“Oh.” He gave a knowing nod. “Well I guess that might not be a great place to follow.”

“I thought it might. So perhaps after we get Duncan’s treatment to Goodneighbor, we part ways.” She glimpsed a discontent in his eyes, but she was uncertain why. She turned her face away from him. Everything about what happened since Sunshine Tidings told her that whatever they had was going nowhere. However, the feelings she had for him had not diminished, they had grown and no matter how much she tried to suppress the feeling she felt positively sick at the idea that he didn’t want her. Her body slackened and in the pit of her stomach a discomfort akin to sea sickness rose. When she glanced back at him, she thought maybe there was more to the discontent but the moment had passed and he appeared non-plussed.

“I’ll just head back to the boathouse or somewhere else for a while.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply.

“For the best.” She nodded and tried to hide her disappointment. Had he asked for a hazmat suit for himself she would have spent her last cap to get him the best one she could.

“You’d best take Valentine. Or even Strong would be better suited.” He blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “Do you have a hazmat suit?”

“I do, I’ve stored it back at the Boathouse.”

“I guess we’ll be companions for a little bit longer then.” He threw away the line like a casual idea and she simply nodded and said nothing more.

It was nightfall before they reached Goodneighbor, and MacCready was keen to get the cure to Daisy, even if it meant interrupting her evening. They arrived at her store just as she was packing up for the night.

Daisy’s singsong drawl was the first thing that you noticed about her. Apart from the fact she was a ghoul.

She addressed Molly. “Well stranger, nice to see you. Come back for more?”

“Not exactly, Daisy. But I think MacCready here wants to speak with you.” She pointed to him as he slinked in behind her.

“Well, sweet vanilla Hoodsie, I haven’t seen you in a while. I thought you sold yourself across the river, MacCready.”

“Honest work for honest pay, Daisy. Nothing suspect about it.”

“All good to hear,” she said. “So what do you need?”

“I got it, Daisy. I found the cure to Duncan’s disease.” There was a hitch in MacCready's voice when he spoke.

“Oh my god! That is wonderful news.” Daisy’s hand went to her heart. “How did you do it? You were lucky to make it out alive last time.”

“The General here, helped me--” He glanced at Molly then to the floor. “I couldn’t have done it without her.”

Molly smiled and felt warmth come to her cheeks.

“I need to get this to Duncan and the homestead. I would take it myself-- but--” He gave a furtive glance in Molly’s direction. “Can you help?”

“First caravan out of the Commonwealth. The driver owes me a favour and I know I can rely on him as much as I’ve relied on you.”

“Thanks, Daisy.” MacCready’s eyes were soft.

“Hey, for all the times you helped me, I’m glad to help.”

“You’re a doll,” he said.

“I ain't anything of the kind, and you know it. But-- keep saying it anyway, one day I might actually believe it.”

MacCready walked outside to light another cigarette.

Daisy turned her attention to Molly and tilted her head to one side. “Now stranger, you sure there’s nothing you need?”

If Molly could read Daisy’s features, she’d be sure there was more in the question than what was on the surface.

“I-- I -- I don’t think I need anything. Thank you, Daisy.” She made to follow MacCready outside.

“Hey, before you go. Do me a favor, stranger. Take care of MacCready for me. He’s one of the good ones.”

Molly’s thoughts froze and she didn’t know how to reply to such concern, it became obvious to her that MacCready had more friends in the Commonwealth than he admitted. She nodded her head and stuttered out a reply. “I-- I will. I promise.”

Outside the shop, there was a light rain beginning to fall and thunderclouds could be heard rumbling in the distance. “Back to the Boathouse then, General?”

“Yes, but I guess we’re stuck in Goodneighbor for the night.” She held out her palms and sighed.

“You don’t sound thrilled. But I can’t say it excites me either. I want to be on the road too.” He stubbed out his cigarette and looked around. “The Rex is really the only choice in town unless you want to sleep in the streets or risk a warehouse - and given the reputation around here they have about the same level of security,” he chuckled.

“The Rex it is then.” The same weak smile crossed her face for the last time tonight.

That night they slept in the same bed, but didn’t touch. His quiet peaceful breaths were punctuated with an occasional snort. More than ever, she wanted his hands around her waist, to tell her that everything would be okay, and that he trusted her. However, she knew that for MacCready, trust was like paper. Once crumpled, it can never be perfect again.


	7. Little Lamplight Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sixteen year old MacCready revels in freedom and new love, whilst an older jaded version wallows in cigarettes and whiskey as Molly prepares for a return trip to the Glowing Sea - without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to thievinghippo for the beta and discussion about our current MacCready obsession. Also to noseforahtwo and heyitsharding for talking through first time awkward!sex stuffs. Y’all are awesome.
> 
> Also - I headcanon (whether its true or not), that Lucy is the same Lucy from Little Lamplight when MacCready was the foul mouthed little Mayor (Fallout 3)

_MacCready looked through the scope of the sniper rifle they gave him. He could see the derelict shack clear across the range, within 600 yards, and rusted sheet metal flapped in the strong breeze. He sucked his finger and stuck it in the air - about 15 knots he reckoned. He went back to the scope, three mole rats rummaging under the cover of the shack's roof, they were ripping at a couple of old mattresses._

_“Three little mole rats jumping on the bed, one jumped up --” He took a breath, stilled, then fired the first shot. “And I shot his fucking head.” He reloaded and checked the scope. The mole rats had scattered but one came back to investigate. “Two little mole rats jumping on the bed, one jumped up --” He took a breath, stilled, then fired the second shot. “And I shot his fucking head.” He reloaded and checked the scope. The third molerat had disappeared underground. It reappeared about 100 yards closer. “One little mole rat, came up from underground, one last bullet--” He took a breath, stilled and fired the third and final shot. “And his head now can’t be found.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Dumb ass furry fuckers,” he muttered._

_He sat up from his prone position and turned to face the two large men who’d been standing behind him. Gunner Commander Davies and Gunner Sergeant English. Both had binoculars strapped around their necks._

_“I told you. I know what the fuck I’m doing.” He stood and brushed the dirt from the front of his jacket._

_The taller and thinner man, Davies turned to the heavy set English. “You didn’t tell me he was a mouthy little SOB.” He then addressed MacCready. “Self-taught, hey?”_

_MacCready stood in front of them, his chest out and smug grin on his face and nodded._

_“How old are you and what do you weigh?” Davies’ tongue danced around in his mouth as he spoke._

_“I’m eighteen and hundred and forty pounds, or thereabouts.”_

_Davies snorted and looked over MacCready’s wiry teenage frame. “You look younger. I’d say sixteen and hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Where are you from?”_

_MacCready stiffened. He lied about his age and weight and they saw straight through it. “I’m from Litt--” He stopped before he named his former home, no need for any more Mungos to know about it than necessary. He didn’t know these people, but it took less than three molerat heads to realise they were assholes. “Big Town.”_

_“Never heard of it. Mole rats are easy. But can you hit a human? Find the weak spot in armor? Can you hit a mutant or a ghoul before they run at you?”_

_MacCready’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck yes I can. I don’t need thoughts, words, or deeds. Give me guns, bullets and a target and I’ll show you fucking heaven.”_

_Davies started laughing. “I see you’ve had a secular education, MacCready wasn’t it? Well, I guess a runt or two with good aim in the pack could come in handy.” He sighed. “Welcome to the fucking Gunners.” He turned back to the Sergeant. “He’s all yours, English.”_

_MacCready watched as Davies turned on his heel and walked back to what was the Gunners officer quarters._

_“Right, MacReedy,” he sneered._

_MacCready scowled and was about to call him a bald fuck face, but thought better of it. The guy had at least 60 pounds on him and he wasn’t up for a fistfight where he knew he’d easily lose. He knew when to pick his battles, and this one wasn’t 500 yards away jumping on an old mattress._

_“You need to go to Megaton. Go to Craterside supply. The merchant is Moira - she’s got a shipment of clothes for us. Uniforms. Pick one for yourself.” He chuckled. “If you can find one that fits.”_

_“What? I didn’t join to be a fucking errand boy.” He spat in the dirt as the wind picked up on the range._

_“You’ll be a fucking errand boy until I say you’re not a fucking errand boy. This isn’t ‘Big Town’, it’s the fucking Gunners and we do things by the book. Our fucking book. Want to clean the latrines instead?”_

_MacCready kept his mouth shut, he could see the Sergeant beginning to lose patience with him and he knew better than to keep it up. Too mouthy in Little Lamplight got you noticed, made you respected. Too mouthy in the Capital wasteland? With all the fucking Mungos you couldn’t trust? You’d get your ass kicked and he’d already had it kicked more than once since leaving Big Town._

_“Didn’t think so. For a little guy from ‘Big Town’, you sure got a mouth on you. That might get you somewhere, or fucking nowhere. Don’t fucking mouth me and we’ll be good.”_

_MacCready’s tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek, enough to distract from the name calling and he held the rifle out to English._

_English shook his head. “You can keep the gun.”_

_MacCready’s eyes widened. He could count on one hand the things he had been given in his life, a scarf, a bag of candy, his first packet of cigarettes. No one had ever given him a gun. “Really?”_

_“Yeah, really. That should be the only thing you trust from now on. Consider yourself lucky -- maybe when you're down in Megaton you can get laid, I hear that Moriarty's Saloon specialises in picking cherries.” He gave a cruel ugly laugh. “Now get the fuck out of my face.”_

_MacCready snorted and when English was out of sight, he held the rifle and petted it. “You are a fucking nice gun. Baby, how could I not trust you.”_

* * *

 

MacCready sat on a bench at the Taffington boathouse, cigarette smoke billowing around him. He’d had little to do since he and the General had arrived three days prior; it worked to build up a nervous energy he just couldn’t shake. Instead, he spent the days smoking and the nights drinking in an attempt to dissipate the unwelcome sensations that made his gaze bounce place to place and his legs jiggle. He sat back, leaned against the boathouse wall and watched as various settlers tended to crops and tinkered with machinery. There were children here, too. Their laughter rang around the boathouse and across the water like the white noise that too often filled his head.

He closed his eyes and thought of Duncan.

Cooking smells emanated from the window behind his head: razor grain stew, sweet and fragrant like a flower and his stomach rumbled. His thoughts drifted to Molly, her smell and the memory of the taste of her on his tongue. Part of his internal disquiet was firmly rooted in the dynamic that had evolved between him and Molly that night in Sunshine Tidings. She had needed comfort and he had given her anger and his own selfish needs, thinking he knew best. He’d wanted to pull her into reality but instead had pushed her away, he could see her indecision and unhappiness. She’d assured him more than once that all was good between them. However, he would have asked a hundred more times, if he thought at least once he could believe it. He didn’t want to build up a resentment to her, like he had with so many others who had told him one thing only for the opposite to be true. He owed her an explanation for not taking the cure to Duncan himself, but, he wasn’t ready for that conversation, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be.

Every day the urge to leave all this mess behind grew stronger. He only stayed because he was sure it was the right thing to do, all the good she was trying to do, asking for so little from others. She gave, and kept giving even when others -- when he -- threw it back in her face or her motives questioned, and then have the gall to ask for one more favor. If anything he was sure about this, and he was rarely sure about anything except the gun in his hand, the caps in his pocket and the love for his son.

“I don’t want to fucking think,” he muttered and closed his eyes then rubbed a hand hard over his brow. “Sorry,” he said louder this time. It was an apology meant for a boy far away and not laughing in his arms beside him.

“You’ll have to be more specific about what you’re sorry about, MacCready.” Nick’s heavy twang was clear and abrupt.

MacCready glanced up into Valentine’s yellow eyes. He took a puff and blew smoke towards him and laughed when Nick waved it away from his face. “You can’t tell me you don’t like that, Valentine. I’ve seen you in the back corner smoking.”

“I may be a second generation synth but my olfactory systems are working just fine, MacCready. I enjoy cigarettes because I’m imprinted with the memories and personality I was based off. It also means I’m imprinted with the dislike for having it blown in my face by assholes.”

“Is that so?” he chuckled.

“I am, however, at the distinct advantage that my lungs won’t die and what suffices for my heart will last as long as the circuitry. You though, I suspect yours will be already on the way to destruction given the amount of cigarettes I’ve seen you smoke since you arrived.”

MacCready shrugged. “I have one vice, _Doctor_ Valentine. Or have you come here to give me some fatherly advice?”

Nick chuckled. “Just one vice, hey? I guess that whiskey drank itself then. You know the ones the General put in the workshop for other purposes.” His synthetic arm reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and handed them to him.

MacCready started laughing louder this time. “You’ve just been telling me these things will kill me.”

“I don’t think I’m the fatherly advice type. Yeah, they could kill you, and possibly anyone who spends a lot of time in your presence. But, it’s your choice and the people with fully functional lungs who feel a need to be around you, the onus is on them. So call it polite, but the General doesn’t seem to like it much.” Nick shuffled his legs under the bench. “Although she’d never tell me-- tell us, to stop. Makes it easier not having the temptation around.” He waved his hand in the air and stared into the distance.

“Very considerate of you.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his tone. MacCready stubbed the end of the cigarette on the porch floor then kicked it into the grass alongside the rest of the butts he’d been placing there over the last three days. He bit at the nail of his thumb, already down to the quick. “You’re right on that account, she doesn’t care for it much-- or at all.”

“Which makes me wonder if you smoke so much why she’s been taking you everywhere.” Nick turned to look directly at him.

“I could say the same of you, Valentine.” MacCready blinked and stared at him. If he could see inside Nick’s brain he’d be sure he’d see cogs and wheels turning, the detective never far from the surface.

“I don’t smoke much when I follow her around,” Nick replied. “That’s why I gave you the cigarettes, or did your ears close over when I told you?”

“What do you want, Valentine?” He licked his lips and folded his arms across his chest.

“What, you gotta be somewhere? Got another contract to fill? A word is all, or is that gonna cost caps?”

MacCready snorted. “Harsh.” He wanted to find an excuse to leave, Valentine was too good as getting to the heart of things, and he wasn’t sure in his current mental state he wanted to hear it. He sighed, resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to move. “C’mon, spit it.”

“I take it you and the General are not on good terms.”

“What do mean? We’re fine.” MacCready chewed his bottom lip, the craving for another cigarette rising. “Even if we weren’t --“

“Yeah, I know. None of my business, but the General--” He pointed to Molly who’d just stepped out on to the Boathouse porch. “She’s my business.”

“Still don’t see where you’re going with this, Valentine.” MacCready had a hint of where Nick was headed. Nick, Piper, hell even Preston were wise on Molly’s ‘favouritism’ towards him. They’d been discreet enough to not neck in public, though.

“All I’m saying is that my priority is to the General. If she’s not happy, it makes my job that much harder. Everybody else’s too.”

“Hard work? Christ, Valentine, you don’t ever sleep or need to eat what the hell are you talking about? Hard work?” He began to shake his head. “Just let me do my job and you go do yours. I’m not responsible for other people’s happiness.” A lump descended in his throat, last time he was--

“You keep telling yourself that, then. And I thought mud was thick--” Nick stopped talking when Molly approached.

* * *

 

_MacCready sat on the stool, stripped down to only his underwear and undershirt, and rubbed his bare and bony arms. Moira, the merchant who ran Craterside Supply had taken pity on him when he’d come out from behind the counter wearing one of the new uniforms. She had suppressed a laugh and told him she would fix the damn thing, for a fee of course. Or if he didn’t have the caps, she might do him a favour, help her with a little experiment._

_The foot pedalled sewing machine whirred to a stop and she threw him the altered clothing. “Pants should fit, but there’s only so much I can do with the jacket.”_

_“Wow, they fit pretty good,” he said as buttoned up the front._

_She’d lit a cigarette and studied him as he put on the jacket. “Awfully young for a Gunner.”_

_“I’m eighteen,” he said in a sharp tone and folded his arms across his chest._

_She laughed. “Sure you are. Anyway, do you have the caps? I don’t think you’ll be right for my experiment. I need someone a little more -- substantial.” She ran a thumb over her bottom lip. “Yeah, too young.”_

_He dived back into his old pants and grabbed the caps. He counted them out realising he didn’t have enough to pay what she asked after having said he did. “I’ve only got twenty five.”_

_She held her hand out. “You owe me then,” She said with a frown. “Make sure you come back this-- wait.” She held up a finger and stubbed out the cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Can I have some blood? That’s gotta be worth fifteen caps. At least.”_

_~~  
MacCready rubbed his arm and frowned as he exited the traders. He threw the pack filled with uniforms over his back and pushed his way through the busy market. He’d been cold before, stripped down but now, with all the people around and the uniform he suddenly felt hot. Then he saw her. She was weaving in and out of people coming and going. Her was hair longer than when he last saw her and the silky dark waves were held back off her face with a green rag tie. He moved towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder._

_”Lucy?” MacCready said in disbelief._

_The young woman turned to face him, and he knew it was her. “MacCready?” She bit her bottom lip. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I could ask you the same, I thought you were in Big Town.” There was a flash behind his eyes and he began to sway._

_Concern broke over her face. “Are you alright?”_

_“I just gave the trader-- the trader--” He pointed towards Craterside Supply but blacked out before he could finish his sentence._

_When he woke it was her face he saw. He smiled. “Where’s Red?” A shared joke remembered._

_She shook her head and laughed. “Are you okay? Did Moira inject anything into you?”_

_He recognised the laugh, the warm feeling it always gave him and he felt instantly at home. “She said she wanted blood. I owed her fifteen caps. I didn’t think anything of it.”_

_“I see.” She rubbed her hand across his brow. “She’s a little odd. Don’t ever agree to any of her experiments again, okay? Even if they appear innocent enough. Lately, I’ve had to treat more than one person based on those damn ideas of hers.”_

_“Oh don’t worry about me, I know what I’m doing. I’m fine.” He sat up trying to hide his dizziness. He wanted to show her he still had the resilience of the mayor, even though he was now a lowly conscript._

_She threw him a skeptical look and passed him some water.“I didn’t think I’d ever meet up with anyone else outside of Little Lamplight or Big Town.” She shook her head excitedly. “But, I have. So, you. Is-- is that a uniform you're wearing?”_

_“Yeah , it is.” His thrust his chest out and looked up, a smug grin plastered his boyish face._

_Her face lit up at his answer. “So, a soldier then? Do you have to go back to your company straight away? Can you stay? You can tell me what you’ve been up to since you left Little Lamplight? You can stay at my place. Do you want to stay at my place? It would be nice to have a familiar face around. Not that it looks quite like the one I remember. Where are you staying again?” There were few breaths between questions as she reached out and rubbed the stubble on his chin._

_“Woah, hang on, Doc. One question at a time. I’m still a little lightheaded from that vampire trader.” His face hurt from smiling in response._

_“Sorry, sorry. I’m just-- wow. MacCready. I still can’t believe it’s you.” She was shaking her head and smiling. “Look, if you’re okay, which you obviously are. I was just on my way home-- are you hungry?”_

_Even in this brief meeting their dynamic hadn’t altered. MacCready thought back to the rockfall in Little Lamplight, six years ago. He’d damaged his leg, broken in two places and it had hurt like a bastard. He had almost lost the limb in the process, and it was Lucy who’d watched over him. She’d calmed him with a few words and healed him with her skilled hands. He was the boss and she, now that Red was no longer around, the chief medic, and jokingly referred to herself as Mom. She had reasoned with him as mayor, chastised him even more, about decisions in the town, about allowing medical supplies from outside, about his cleanliness, about the constant stream of obscenities that left his mouth even when he was saying hello. When she wasn’t telling him what a jerk he was being to others she was laughing at his bad jokes and his even worse language, and he found all it took was a moment for him to realise how much he missed her._

_He was supposed to pick up the uniforms and head straight back to base, not dally. “Yeah, I am pretty hungry,” he said. He couldn’t contain his enthusiasm for the idea and his face wide grin would stay splashed there for the rest of his time in Megaton._

* * *

 

“MacCready. Nick.” Molly nodded to each of them but remained standing.

“So when are you leaving, General?” MacCready asked. He looked at Molly, he knew the lines of her face well enough to see that behind her passive expression there was a hint of a smile in her eyes and the smallest of a curl to her lips. He liked seeing her this way, relaxed, happy even.

Molly leaned against the boathouse wall. “This afternoon.”

“Oh, so soon--” A sense of guilt washed over him, he’d been sitting and drinking since they got here and she hadn’t asked for help. Had he offered? He couldn’t remember. She’d ask for help if she needed it. Wouldn’t she? The sound of caps rattled in his head, another failure to pay his due.

“I want to make it the Diamond City by nightfall. I need to pick up another hazmat suit, the one here is no good, and I’ve got a few other errands need doing before we head further.” She scratched her head under the brim of her hat. “Can you do me a favour, MacCready?” The tone of her voice was guarded, like she expected him to say no.

He nodded earnestly, eager to show her he wasn’t just about sitting around on his ass, that he wanted to help and there was no need for her to be wary. “Sure, what is it?”

She handed him a key. Her fingers brushed against his but then withdrew, far too quickly for his liking.

“What’s this?” He gave her a blank look.

“I don’t know if you remember. But, last time I took Nick with me we went back to Diamond City, and I-- I, well, I bought a house. Well, not really a house. Just somewhere to park my butt when in town. I thought I mentioned it to you.”

“You mean a settlement? In Diamond City?” He frowned. He wasn’t sure how an idea like that might work. “No, you didn’t mention it.”

“Oh.” She coughed. “I must have forgot. Anyway, no, not a settlement. It’s a space with a workshop and a small living area. It’s a place I can call my own. I think maybe--” Her lip quivered and her eyes dropped. “I think I deserve that much. I’m not planning on having any settlers move there.”

“You do deserve it, General.” Nick said.

A hint of annoyance crossed MacCready’s face and he glared at Nick. He just wasn’t quick enough to reply. She deserved all the peace and space to park her butt away from all this shit. Her gorgeous sweet butt-- his mouth went dry _is it too early for a drink?_ He wanted to ask if any companions would be residing there. However, the question remained tight behind his lips, asking might lead to an unwelcome answer.

“And anyway Sun--” She paused, her eyes remained looking down. “And Sanctuary Hills is-- too close to everything for me right now. Homeplate--”

“Homeplate?”

“Yeah that’s what it’s called. A place to hang my General’s hat. Unwind. Be--” She gave an unforced wry laugh and he watched as her posture softened further. “Be me for a while. Privacy isn’t really a big thing in the settlements.”

Nick laughed. “Yeah even for a synth who never sleeps there is no privacy. You’d think I’d get a moment when everyone else is slumbering.”

MacCready rubbed his chin and jangled the key. “So, what do you want me to do with this?”

“Last time I left you at one of the settlements you said you were bored, and you had too much time on your hands. I’ve only had time to partially set up Homeplate. It’s got all the comforts but none of the necessities. I need some more done.”

“And you’re looking at me as some sort of interior decorator?” He laughed. “Good one, General. What do I do, how many vases you got?” He bit his tongue at what was meant to be a joke.

Her tone turned serious. “No-no I need a functioning weapons and armour workbench. I need storage and organisation for all the modifications I’ve picked up. I left one of the rare armour mods at the Starlight Drive-in and it was stolen. A pistol I modded was stolen, too. They can be replaced but I wa--“ She sighed and rubbed her temple. “I _need_ a safe place for things that I can’t afford to lose.”

His eyes narrowed and he looked into hers. His poor taste jokes aside, gone was the judgement he saw pass across her features when he told her he wouldn’t be heading back to the Homestead to deliver Duncan’s cure. Instead, there was something else written across her face. He studied her features. Her cheeks flushed pink, yet he could still see her freckled skin beneath her rosy countenance. Her lips were dewy and her eyes darted away from his continuous stare.

He ran a finger over his top lip and threw the keys up in the air, glad that she had finally asked something of him. “Okay, I can be of use then. Yeah, I can definitely do that, General.”

“Good,” She replied. It was as though the last few days of uncomfortable interaction between them melted with an open and soft smile.

“Does it need anything else? Like I said I’m not good at this decorating business.”

“It has few couches, a few home comforts. I’ve repaired the floor in some spots, it has a carpet, I’ve even set up a bar. But, you’ll have to stock it.” She gave a quiet laugh.

“I think he can do that.” Nick said.

He shook his head to the side and winked. “Thanks Nicky.”

Nick’s lips curled up at the corners without really smiling. MacCready thought it was likely the closest thing to what a synth might consider a dirty look.

“Does it have a bed already? Gonna take more than a few days, or a week or two even, to set up and well, caps aren’t really flowing right now.” He patted an empty pocket.

“Don’t worry about the caps, MacCready. I’ll leave some for you at Homeplate. If you need supplies, they can be sent from other settlements or take them from here when you leave.” She looked away and down. “As for the bed, yes it has one. A very comfortable one.”

“Do you mind me using it then?” He waved his hand indifferently, and observed her body tense at the question. The last time they had shared a bed was in Goodneighbor. Med-Tek had drained him-- all that he wanted was for her to fold her arms around him. Like they had before they’d become intimate, a gesture of being close but without the expectations of more. Instead they had laid back to back, neither talking or touching.

“Of--of course not. You-- you have to sleep somewhere,” she stuttered.

“Hey, try not to let the good General’s home stink like the smoker's den in the Third Rail,” Nick added, an unhelpful remark considering what they were talking about.

MacCready sneered and stood to face Nick. “Wow, Valentine.” He lay his hands on his chest in mock indignation. “It’s not like I’m going to be staying there permanently.” His eyes danced over to Molly.

Her face flushed rose again. “There’s a balcony upstairs. If you want to put a chair up there and just keep the hatch open a fraction, it should be okay. Also there’s some patio furniture outside, maybe, you could--” Molly scratched her chin. “It’s not a big deal -- you know, I’m just saying air the place out a little now and then.”

He nodded. “I can do that. But, how long you gonna be gone, General?”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Well, no matter, consider it done, whether you’re gone a week or month. It will be ready for you when you come home. Where is it?”

“Just off the Marketplace, just ask and someone will point you in the right direction. And thank you, it’s much appreciated.” She brushed her hand across his arm. The touch was so light, he could barely feel it. “C’mon Nick,” She turned her attentions to the synth. “Let’s get packed and ready to go.”

Molly walked back towards the door and looked back, a weak smile came to her face. He watched as she took a deep breath and sighed as she stepped inside. He swallowed hard, it might be a long time until she returned and his heart sank at the thought. If she hadn’t given him this job he was sure there wouldn’t be enough cigarettes and whiskey to take over the emptiness. Nick stood to follow.

“Hey, Valentine.” He grabbed a cigarette out of the packet he’d given him earlier.

“What is it, MacCready?” Nick turned to him.

He lit the cigarette and inhaled blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth and away from Nick this time. “Bring her-- bring the General back in one piece, okay?”

“I’ll bring her back, MacCready. I’ll bring her back to that safe place for things that she can’t afford to lose.” He shook his head and looked like he was going to call him a jackass. “I’ll bring her back,” he said again then turned and ambled back into the Boathouse.

MacCready had never been astute at reading people. You don’t need to read a person if you’re first instinct is not to trust them. However, whatever Valentine had said he’d taken at face value. He knew the man-- the synth-- the detective who so many had trusted before, had Molly’s best interest at heart, over his own safety even, that was some comfort at least. He sat back down on the bench and blew smoke rings in the cooling afternoon air.

Molly and Nick emerged from the boathouse and walked towards the road. Her pack looked heavy. He smiled as he watched her from the bench. She turned before disappearing through the gate wearing the same look on her face as before. The shape of Molly’s lips as she smiled, the rose colour never hiding the freckles on her cheeks and her blue eyes that shied away if you stared too long, her overall expression, he knew it well and he knew that too much whiskey had dulled its memory. He knew it well because he had seen it many times before, on the face of another.

* * *

 

_”Are you frightened?” Lucy closed the bedroom door and took both of his hands in hers._

_“Me? Frightened? Nah.” he scoffed. He was also lying._

_The whiskey they’d been drinking had yet to kick in and his heart was beating so fast it might have leapt out of his chest and run around the town on its own. Up until that point, they had only just fooled around. Hugging, groping and kissing, for what felt like hours on end. Occasionally a little dry humping. He’d managed to squeeze his hand under her shirt on more than one occasion. He never pushed it further than that though. He’d taken some ribbing from the other conscripts when they found out he had a ‘friend’ in Megaton, and they assumed -- wrongly -- that they were sleeping together._

_She squeezed his hands. “I am.”_

_“You’re what?”_

_She laughed. “Frightened.”_

_“Oh yeah. Right.” He swallowed hard. He had to try at least appear calm, even if such a show would only have the effect of putting her at ease and do nothing to his nerves that were now starting to rattle his bones._

_Having the other conscripts know he had a girl gave him an out when it came to some of the social activities. He’d never really enjoyed drinking with them, and their insistence to hang in brothels and cheap bars not his style. More than once someone made the sounds of a whip at her mention - as though that was the reason he never came with them. The real reason was, he despised them all. Even though he fitted in because he could shoot straight and every second word he uttered was a curse, he was so apart from them in thought and attitude he wondered how they ever managed to be successful. All of them, the worst ones especially, appeared to live in devotion to violence. His policy was to shoot, then leave, but they-- they revelled in cruelty, and it sickened him. He knew though, by staying, he was complicit, but if he didn't stay he didn’t know how else he would survive, not yet anyway. The Gunners were becoming less like the career he hoped and more like the one he would regret._

_He never told them her name and so she became ‘MacCready’s hole in the ground’ and that was fine by him, the less they knew about her the better. He needed a layer several concrete walls thick between what he had with her and what he was doing with these mercenaries. As long as he could put up with these assholes he could collect a nice pay, live well and improve his aim. That was as long as he didn’t think about who he was told to shoot._

_He leaned in and kissed her. Soft and light. She also had a hint of whiskey on her lips, it tasted different though, sweeter. What did the magazine tell him again -- start with a kiss and you go slow. It said a lot about the people he hung with-- that he trusted a magazine over what the other conscripts had said. ‘Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen’. That wasn’t his style. And Lucy, well, he cared for her. She was not only the person who he’d known the longest, but she was the only one he could ever see a future with, the only one he wanted to see happy amongst all the desperation around them and the only person who he never wanted to disappoint._

_She stood back from him, pulled off her top, and her pants down. She stood in front of him in her underwear, her skin shimmered in filtered lantern light. He continued to stare at her, he didn’t think he’d seen so much of her skin all at once before. She was tall, not as tall as he was, and very thin due to the many hours during the day on her feet. It made her legs long, lean and compared with his, shapely and extremely attractive. He felt a familiar constriction in his pants._

_“Well?” she said._

_“What?”_

_“Are you gonna get undressed? That’s how it works. I know, I’m a Medic.”_

_He swallowed hard again and began to undress not moving his eyes from her body._

_She wrapped her arms around herself, it was the dead of winter and despite the small lit fire in Lucy’s living room it never felt as warm as a fire in Little Lamplight. She twisted her body from side to side, waiting for him to make the next move. “I’m glad you came here, to Megaton.” He could see the goosebumps on her stomach as he bent down to remove his pants. “And, I’m glad you kept coming back.” Lucy’s voice was soft and gentle._

_“Ha, yeah me too.” He took his clothes off slowly, aware that her eyes appeared impatient, expectant. He hoped he wouldn’t disappoint. He’d been told he was skinny, scrawny, all skin and bones by others, but he didn’t care about what they said. But he did care what she thought. When he’d removed all but his underpants, he stood and grabbed her hands, relief washed over him when after her eyes danced up and down his body, a large toothy smile came to her face. “I guess--” He nodded towards the bed. They shuffled awkwardly to the edge and laid down facing each other. He felt her shiver under the touch of his fingertips, so he touched her again this time gripping her sides and running his hands up and down from the curve of her hips to the curve of her breasts. His skin tingled to his toes. He knew he wanted more._

_“You should take these off,” she said as she ran her fingers along the length of his erection._

_He closed his eyes. “That feels nice.” She continued to stroke him through the grungy material. When he opened his eyes, she was studying his face._

_He kissed her hard, pushing his tongue roughly into her mouth. It grazed against her teeth as she met it with her own._

_He slid his hands down to his underpants and pulled them down one handed, the exposed elastic of the waistband making snapping noises and pulling on the hairs of his legs, not that he cared that it was painful. He shuffled them down and swished his legs enough to kick them off the end of the bed._

_“Okay now you.” He tugged at her bra._

_Lucy sat up and turned her back to him. “Unclasp me.” She held her hair up._

_His hands traced down her spine to the bra’s clasp. Again she shivered under his touch. “Shit, how does this work?” he said as he pulled and tugged but couldn’t undo the fastening. She giggled and put both hands around the back and undid it easily._

_She turned her head, her hair falling over his hand as he pulled the strap from her shoulder. His hands followed hers and he put them over her breasts as she leant back for a kiss._

_She broke from the kiss and squirmed out of his grasp as she pulled her underpants off and threw them to join his on the floor._

_She turned to face him again, put her hands on this cheeks and kissed him several times. It was as though all the blood rushed from his head to his groin and he pushed her on to her back and crawled over her, a bony knee hitting her hard in the thigh in the process._

_“Ow,” she said._

_“Ahh sorry you okay?”_

_“Yeah, just--” She leaned up to kiss him again and banged her forehead on his chin._

_“Shit, sorry,” he said._

_“No I’m sorry.” She gave him a nervous laugh and another kiss._

_“Oh fuck,” he exclaimed._

_“What? What’s wrong?”_

_“Um, I don’t have any-- Jimmy Hats?” he said. According to the magazine you needed one of those to make sure that the woman didn’t get pregnant. He’d left bossing around a mass of little shit head kids behind him in Little Lamplight, and he didn’t think Lucy wanted to take up the mantle of Mom again quite so soon._

_Lucy nodded and pointed to a drawer. “Remember I’m a medic?” She wiped a hand over her mouth to stop from giggling._

_“Oh yeah, good, that’s good.” MacCready jumped off the bed and rifled through the mass of bits and pieces that Lucy had collected in her drawer. He found a red one and a strong sweet and spicy scent hit the air when he ripped it open. “What’s that smell?” It was something he smelt occasionally in places but he didn’t know what it was._

_“It’s cinnamon, it's a spice. The red ones have that smell. It’s nice isn’t it?” she said_

_“Yeah, yeah, I guess.” He stood fumbling, his hands trembled and he almost dropped the condom on the ground. “Ahh, um, can you help me put it on?”_

_She laughed. “Come here, dummy.”_

_MacCready stood at the side of the bed and handed her the condom. She rolled it skilfully on his erection. “Have you done this before?” He asked wide eyed._

_“Does an ear of corn count?” She smiled up at him._

_He looked at her, his brow knitted in confusion._

_“Medic training - sex education.”_

_“Oh yeah, of course. I didn’t mean--” Not that it would have mattered in any case if she had done this before. He was already breathing heavy and when her hands reached the base of his cock, he moaned. “Wow, you do have a healing hands, a natural.”_

_She snorted. “Shut up, you.”_

_He shuffled on to the bed again as Lucy lay on her back and spread her legs. Lucy’s house was tiny, the bedroom even smaller, and the bed, if you moved around too much while both of you were in it would see you bash against the house walls or roll off on to the floor._

_Okay, what did the magazine say? Kiss her? Everywhere? Kiss her everywhere. Yeah that was it. He started at her knees and then her outer thigh up to her stomach where he lingered, enjoying the vibrations on his lips when she giggled at the sensation. He kissed each breast and then her neck making his way to her lips before breaking._

_“You really want to do this?” he said breathlessly._

_Lucy nodded and kissed him again. “Don’t you quit on me, RJ MacCready.”_

_“No, never.” He adjusted himself between her legs and leant on his arms and gently pressed into her. He stilled._

_“Is it in?” She asked, her breathing laboured._

_“Yeah, yeah, I think so.”_

_He didn’t know what to expect but he liked the change in warmth from being outside her to inside, far better than a hand and a barrel of Monkey Grease. He liked the feel of her, even through the Jimmy hat it felt good, though he’d read that it would dull the sensation. But then, he didn’t know any better._

_“You can move now, RJ, just-- just go slow, okay?” she whispered into his ear_

_She gave a quiet gasp when he first thrust into her then shifted under him and whimpered._

_“You okay, Luce? You okay?” He stopped moving. “Shit, sorry I--”_

_“Keep moving, RJ, keep moving. I’ll be fine.” Her hands wandered to his face to his arms and shoulders then back to his face and chin._

_He kissed her cheek and her nose then moved and nestled his head in the crook of her neck. He felt warmer than he had all winter. He continued his slow movements, speeding up then slowing down all whilst she moaned and cried into his ear._

_“This is good. So fucking good,” he whispered and kissed her. She in turn moaned into his mouth spurning him to move faster and harder._

_A few more thrusts and he felt the familiar tightness in his balls and followed his orgasm by several loud grunts as it came to a finish. He collapsed on to her and she stroked the back of his neck planting small kisses all over the side of his face._

_So this was it, he hadn’t expected it to be this exhausting, he hadn’t expected to be so nervous either, but as it turned out, in the battle between his nerves and his cock, best man won out._

_Then there was Lucy, the closest friend he ever had in Little Lamplight. He never imagined that one day he would be nestled in her arms, her hair falling on him and her lips on his face, the smell of spice and sex in the air, now he knew what that was. He never wanted this feeling to disappear and he hoped that she felt the same._

_He lifted his head. “Did you?” he asked._

_“Did I what?” He could feel her still shaking beneath him._

_“Come?”_

_“Ah, I don’t think so.”_

_“Oh, okay sorry.” He was sure that she was supposed to come too. That’s what the magazine had said._

_“Want me to show you how I do it?”_

_“Really?” There was no magazine article that could have prepared him for this. He knew that girls did this as much as boys did, the way it was talked about in Little Lamplight. But fuck, she was going to do it in front of him, and he’d get to watch. A grin split his face from ear to ear._

_She nodded enthusiastically. “You’re hands are clean, yes?”_

_He rolled quickly off her, pulled the condom off and dropped it to the floor then fanned his hands out in front of her. “Just a little bit messy, but that’s your fault.”_

_Lucy laughed, closed her eyes and licked her lips. He watched her intently, adoring everything about the experience. How her hand moved down slowly over her breasts and stomach. How she caressed herself through soft black curls and then dipped lower to retrieve more slickness for her fingers to glide. How the other hand danced up to her breast, and caressed her sides. How her eyes obtained a faraway look when she stared at him. How she grabbed his hand and guided him to her clit, her fingers pressed on his making him circle. “This, I like this,” she whispered._

_Most of all, he adored her moan and whisper of ‘I love you’ when she came._

* * *

 

MacCready woke and checked his watch. Five am. He’d had a fitful sleep and woken earlier at three only to toss, turn and doze. He dreamt of Molly, of Lucy and Duncan. His head cleared from the whiskey haze that hadn’t done its job. What had she said? What had Valentine repeated? That she was storing things in a safe place, _things she couldn’t afford to lose._

He jumped out of bed, grabbed his pack, went downstairs and took a hurried leak into the river from the deck. He then grabbed some food from the pantry, and rummaged through the workshop bench. None of these places ever had enough copper or ceramics for good lighting so he grabbed some wire and old ashtrays. “Shit.” He ran back upstairs and grabbed the packet of cigarettes Nick had given him.

He strapped his rifle to his pack. If he could make good time on the road, he might just reach Molly and Valentine before they left Diamond City. He took a deep breath as he stepped onto the crumbling asphalt. When he reached Homeplate, he would tell her everything.


	8. Matters of faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith comes in many forms. In the shape of a divine, or through loved ones, or even through declarations from strangers who say they will help. On a return journey to the Glowing Sea with Nick Valentine, Molly mediates on matters of faith, but never questions the faith she lacks in herself.

Before the war, the spire of the Hopesmarch Pentecostal church towered over the greenest grass Molly had ever seen. The garden, clipped and maintained with perfect hedges, reflected against the white weatherboard and the blue of the sky. She remembered the smell of popcorn and the taste of sugared donuts at the church fete and the sound of music and a gaggle of silver-haired women and men oohing and aahing over the barely three-week-old baby in her arms.

In the Glowing Sea, everything is green. However, it’s not grass that taints the atmosphere, its radiation. There is loss and despair that permeates the air, all to a background tune of rads crackling on a pip boy.

She stood at the foot of the bell tower, the sound of the wind howling around her. She looked through the skylight and could see the walking corpses below.

“How long do you think they’ve been here, Nick?” She stepped clumsily around the sunken church, the memories creating an aching loss that made every footstep heavy.

“Hard to say. But likely pre-war. So quite a while I’m guessing,” he replied.

“How is this possible, how can someone-- how can anyone live in this radiation? How can--” Molly’s voice caught. Smells and sounds of church fetes were long gone and this was the only thing left.

“You’ve seen the ghouls, I don’t know exactly. I’m taking it as something genetic. Why some people die, and yet others transformed. I don’t know.”

“I knew this church. This was my friend Davina’s church. She was married here. Her children baptised here. I came here with Shaun and Nate and we--” She closed her eyes and found it difficult not to let out a whimper.

When she opened them again, she stared at the feral ghouls roaming back and forth along the gallery and lower. They could have been singing, celebrating, mourning, crying in joy or sadness, or offering a simple devotion amongst the comfort of the thought of a divine at the end of the world. Molly scanned the ghouls, hoping that she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of a Davina’s Sunday best fuchsia colored dress amongst the many who still wandered. Much of the clothing was in tatters, their faces mauled by the radiation, there was nothing recognizable here. She sighed and shook her head as tears threatened to fall.

“Let’s go, before I fog up the rest of this hazmat suit, Nick.” Her desire to leave grew with every minute spent staring in through the broken ceiling.

They reached Virgil’s cave in record time. They managed to avoid the death claw stalking just outside, but not the radscorpions. They had to kill four on the way to the cave, the click of their pedi-palps made for a chilling accompaniment to the background wind whistle.

They entered the cave to find Virgil bent over a desk mumbling. “Damn these fingers they might as well all be thumbs.”

“Virgil.” Molly’s voice was quiet and not able to penetrate above the whir of the robot patrol.

“Huh?” Virgil turned.

“Virgil, It’s me, Molly.” She watched as the mutant faced them.

“Ahh you’ve returned. I didn’t think I’d see you again, but then you bought down that psycho Kellogg, anything was possible.” Virgil’s glasses sat far at the end of his nose and he pushed them up with a thick index finger.

“I have the code,” Molly’s voice had an air of quiet pride, that she had at least made it this far.

“Damn, that was fast. Who helped you?” His large green brow furrowed.

“I found the Railroad. They said they would help. They said that--”

“You trusted those kooks? I thought they’d be more interested in liberating computers and telling nuka cola machines they had souls.” He sniffed in disgust.

Nick laughed and Virgil scoffed in response. “Sorry, their reputation is-- something else.”

“I-- I don’t know much about them, but they’ve helped. At least they said they would help.” Her gaze darted to Nick, who looked calm and collected as always. _She was sure they would help._

“Mmmph. Well, whatever they told you, I have something for you in that case. Schematics.” Virgil handed a chip over to Molly

“Schematics, for what exactly?” She made to scratch her head only realising then she still wore the Hazmat helmet.

“I’ll make it easy for you. You need a device that can transport you to the institute. These schematics will help you build such a device. With it you should be able to hijack a signal they use to transfer coursers in and out of the wherever they are.”

“Okay, sounds straightforward enough. Nick?” She turned to her synth companion with a concerned look.

“I know they come and go, the coursers, but no one has ever seen how they managed it. And no one I know has ever fought a courser and lived to tell the tale.” He placed his hands out plaintively in front of him.

“Another thing.” Virgil pointed to the radio on the sideboard. “The classical music station, you know the one?”

“Yes, what about it?” Molly said.

“It’s the carrier signal for the relay. All the data has been there all along.”

“Shit, really?” Molly’s legs shuffled as she stood.

“Shit, really. But I want to make it clear, this is not my area of expertise. I’m a biomedical engineer, not an advanced systems specialists.” Virgil flicked his hand under his chin. “Damn systems specialists.”

“Advanced systems? What is that?” Nick asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough, divisions within the institute. But that’s irrelevant.” He pointed to Molly. “If you don’t have the people to help you build it-- do you have people?”

“Don’t worry about that.” She gave a dismissive wave. “And our bargain? We’ll get what we promised you, Virgil.”

“I should hope so, after the trouble I went to get all of this for you.” He thumped his chest. “I just want to be myself again. Instead of this monster.” He picked up a pencil awkwardly on the workbench in front of him and Molly heard the audible snap of the wood as it broke into pieces within his grasp.

“I’m not religious, but maybe we should both pray that this works.” She never believed in the power of prayer, attached so often to something she had trouble believing in. But there were moments she saw in others. Hands held across the dinner table in familial bond before breaking bread. Davina’s prayer for Shaun after meeting him for the first time. A promise before an alter from a man she deeply loved. Today she thought on prayer reaching beyond faith of the divine and that was something she could believe had power. 

“I’m a man of science. I don’t believe in such efforts.” Virgil stated.

“And I am a woman all out of options,” Molly sighed. “It’s all I have left.”

_Nate stood in front of her, his hands holding hers, caressing her forearm with a finger, and all she could think about was his parent’s yellow weatherboard clad house. The lace of the metal decorations standing stark white against the sunny painted edifice, the suburban street filled with sounds of children on bikes, sprinklers and the smell of Virginian style barbeque burning in every backyard._

_“Molly?” He continued to stroke her arm waiting expectantly for her to answer._

_She shook her head out of the daze of suburban thoughts. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said in a affectionate tone. She had expected a proposal, Nate was terrible at keeping things a secret from her; however she was both surprised and delighted he had done it here just after a visit to his parents. She was also sure he had spoken with his father about it first. She closed her eyes and smiled at the delicate sensations dancing across her skin from his hand. “I will marry you, Nathaniel Gould.”_

_“Phew, I thought you were gonna say no there for a second.” Relief washed over his face._

_She leaned up to him for a kiss. “That would never have happened.”_

_When they made love that night, in the small tiny bed of the bed and breakfast Nate’s mother had arranged for them, in which Nate had joked that he would part the Red Sea of the hallway to be with her and having single beds and separate rooms was not going to stop him, Molly had a moment. She reflected on who they were, and what it would mean to marry him, to attach herself to a family so unlike her own. The Gould’s were devout, never questioning, their faith never shaken by the tumultuous world around them. Nate less so; however, he believed in a higher power, something Molly had struggled with over time. It had played on her mind, his belief compared to her lack, and she had spoken at length with him about the fact. He had placated her fears saying that he had enough for both of them. She worried about her own family’s reaction to the news. Her father so damn certain about everything he didn’t believe, her mother likely to question why they need marry at all._

_However, Molly loved Nate, more than she had ever loved anyone. She remembered a saying, ‘faith makes all things possible but love makes all things easy’. So she had kissed him and called his name over and over in a shared intimacy of the small bed._

_They married, in the Gould family church of Taunton, Virginia, and Molly Ann Martin became Molly Ann Gould and any conflict of faith melted with laughter and the sound of church bells. It would stay that way through the years until the bombs fell. Until Nate was no longer there and her family destroyed._

Molly and Nick decided to spend the night in Virgil’s cave. Outside the radstorm had picked up and even a hazmat suit might be vulnerable. Virgil grumbled about the unwelcome extended presence of the two of them, but said he could tolerate it as long as they were gone by mid-morning at the latest.

Molly removed her helmet and took two tablets of Rad-X from a bottle in her pack. Even this far below ground the rads were high. She swallowed the bitter, odorless tablets, the flavour reminded her of when her mother left the bitter flower base in her chrysanthemum vinaigrette, it tainted the salad much the way radiation tainted this whole area. She was still amazed that people could live in a place like The Crater of Atom, or even be immune to the radiation. If you believed the Children of Atom, it was heavenly intervention.

She slept fitfully and woke at two am unable to return to sleep. Her first thought was of MacCready, that she hoped he was sleeping more soundly than she. She sat up in the dark of the cave and reached for water.

“I’d be careful, that water is likely contaminated now.”

She jumped and looked into the yellow glow of Nick’s eyes. He sat in a chair nearby. “Shit, Nick. You shouldn’t scare a girl like that.”

He scratched his head. “Sorry. Can’t you sleep?”

Molly stood and went over to where he sat and plonked down on the undulating ground next to him, it was hard on her soft behind, even through the toughened material of the hazmat suit. “No. Too much playing on my mind.”

“You’ve been preoccupied for a while, General.” Nick leaned his elbow on his knee and placed his face in his mechanical hand.

“You noticed?” She laughed and bought her knees into her body and sighed. “Of course you did.”

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” he said, matter of fact.

“I know, we still have to deal with Eddie Winter, but I have promised to help you. Don’t worry, Nick.” She patted his knee and lowered her head.

“You know I’m not talking about that.” The metal of his hand scratched down his chin to his throat then back up again.

“Yeah I know.” She fiddled with the strap on the hazmat suit. She needed her thoughts to drift elsewhere, away from her current feelings about MacCready, he didn’t want her and her thoughts of foolish dalliances needed quelling, if she could only get Nick off the scent of her disquiet. “I need a distraction. What do you think I need for Homeplate? Do you think the weapons and armor benches are going work in that space? What about the office?”

“That’s not a distraction, that’s a deflection.”

She ignored him and continued, words spilled out of her mouth before she could process them. “Be nice to get one of those stovetop burners to work. Do you think you could try? I mean I could heat water on it. Hell, even cook; make myself a cup of tea. You name it. I just need more-- stuff. Maybe a wood fired cooking station. I’d need a chimney, of course. And I’d definitely need some decent cooking pots. Just imagine cooking homemade stews.”

Nick’s laugh was quiet with a deep resonant chuckle.

“What? What’s so funny, Valentine?” She couldn’t hide the growing smirk.

“Do you know what a Bowerbird is, General?”

“I do actually. They’re a bird from Papua New Guinea jungle. They like to collect things. Their most notable characteristic is their extraordinarily complex courtship and mating behaviour.” Molly looked to Nick and felt the heat rise in her collar and flush over her face. “I-- I meant-- bowerbirds build a structure and decorate it with sticks and collect brightly coloured objects-- shit -- in an attempt -- forget the mating bit, they just collect a lot of stuff, okay? They collect a lot of junk to attract-- damn.”

Nick’s laugh grew and a grumbling Virgil shouted from the next room.

Molly stifled a laugh with her hand.

Nick stopped laughing and they both stayed quiet for a while. “Molly, if you want an honest opinion I think you’re going round in circles on this. I’m no relationship counsellor or confessional priest, but I can listen. If you need an ear that is.”

Molly dug her heel into dirt floor. “Obviously I--” She rubbed the space on the bridge of her nose and gave a quiet laugh. “I've never been with anyone, the way I am with him.” Her thoughts on the relationship were a constant source of anguish for her, he was so much younger than her and she had dismissed him with that alone. However, that day in Sunshine Tidings she recognised the shoes that he wore, because they had been an ill fit on her feet too. It was like eating an artichoke, where it only revealed it’s softness and its deeper flavour as you peeled each layer away. And when you reached the heart and it was was laid out on a plate you could cut it so easily with even the bluntest of knives. He said he cared about caps, whiskey and cigarettes. She’d learnt they were the spiny tough layers built over time, from the harsh reality of the Wasteland, and they existed only to protect a gentle and caring heart.

“I’ll be honest, Nick, it isn’t straightforward. Not like with Nate.”

“We’re in the Wasteland and two hundred and ten years have passed for you.” Nick was silent for a moment. “I don’t think for you anything could possibly be straightforward. He’s a young guy, but he’s seen a lot. Been through a lot.” Nick tapped his chin again. “Do you miss your husband?”

Molly pushed at with a rock on the ground then picked it up between clumsy fingers of her gloved hand. “Not as much as I thought I would. Not as much as I should. He grounded me. He was my rock. And now he’s gone.” There was a sense of relief to finally admit that out loud. That she had only thought of Nate in fleeting moments that her sense of self was becoming separate from the man she had loved for many years. She crushed the rock in her hand to dust. “And Shaun, I barely knew my baby and I do miss him like --”

“Like there’s a piece missing?”

She nodded. “But, then I feel like there is a lot of me missing.” She had thought for a time it was possible it was never missing, that in fact that it was never there to begin with, and that thought frightened her more than she cared to admit. “Maybe I’m trying to find it in all this junk I pick up. Perhaps I should visit All Faiths Church and speak with Pastor Clements again.”

“How do you feel about him then?”

“Who? Pastor Clements?” She bowed her head when she realised and gave a short embarrassed laugh. “Oh, of course, him, him, yeah, a problem shared and all that.”

“I think he’s smitten with you, General. He has a lot of faith in you, as do many others.”

Molly gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t know about that, Nick.” Molly couldn’t see beyond her own views of her incompetency to think others could have that much confidence in her. “Look, MacCready and I had a moment but now it’s gone and he made it clear that he wanted to keep it professional. As per our contract.”

“Hmmmph, he said that?” Nick cocked his head towards her, “I should have known.”

“Yeah he did.” She felt her shoulders droop. It was difficult to hide the disappointment in the whole unfolding events that occurred between her and MacCready.

“I guess his contract is finished. I wonder why is he still here then? He’s got the Gunners off his back and the cure for his son’s illness, why is he still working for you, if he doesn’t need to even be here?”

Molly’s brow furrowed and she laid her head on Nick’s knee, surprisingly soft against her ear, she had expected it to be like a hard pillow. He shifted awkwardly before laying a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Beats me. I’ve told him there’s no debt to me, but I think he has it in his head he still owes me something. You’ll have to ask him, I guess.”

“Jackass.”

“I take you mean MacCready not me,” she said with an amused tone.

“Maybe.” He gave another quiet chuckle.

_”Molly? What are you doing home?”_

_Molly shifted from the sofa, walked to the sink, and filled the kettle without looking at him. “I wasn't feeling good. That’s all.” She wiped her hand over her face that moments prior were covered in tears._

_“Molly?” Nate came up behind her, took the kettle from her hand, and placed it on the bench. He placed his arms around her, and kissed her shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”_

_Molly let herself go limp in his embrace. The dreaded two-week wait had disappointed again. She broke from him and wiped her eyes. “This is supposed to be easy, isn’t it?”_

_“Yeah so they say, wouldn’t have a populated world otherwise.” He held his arms out for her. “Come here. You can’t say we’re not having fun trying though?”_

_She gave a quiet laugh as she sank into his chest again. “Definitely a lot of fun.”_

_“Maybe we should go speak with someone; we should have done that before we even started. I mean it’s been eight months and we’re not getting any younger.” He kissed the top of her head. “And what I mean is we both go. We both have a thorough physical.”_

_“You would do that, for me?” She looked up into his face. Nate Gould was always there with a word, always saying the right damn thing, and at the right damn time._

_“Molly. That is not a question I think I want to hear again.” He wiped away the remnant tears from her face with his thumb and kissed her long and slow. “I have faith that we will get what we want, if not what we need.”_

_She hugged him tight._

_“You go sit. I’ll get -- what was it? Tea?” he said. She nodded. “And maybe a little sympathy?” he added._

_There were days that she didn’t think it possible she could love him more. The road to having a child had not been easy; she was sure it would only get harder. Then he gave her the faith he had, and everything felt as though it would fall into place._

The relief that Molly felt on leaving the Glowing Sea was evident in her stride, her gait slowed, her breathing quiet. She removed the hazmat suit as soon as she could, dosed herself with more rad-x and they began their trip back to the Railroad headquarters.

It was early afternoon when they reached Old North Church. Molly hadn’t thought twice about the ghouls inside the first time they’d fought their way through the tunnels. This time though she thought back to Hopesmarch and her heart sunk. The ghouls here, they too might have been here to worship or to pray for a miracle, that they would survive or be delivered from the destruction around them.

Inside the Railroad HQ, Desdemona and Tom were deep in discussion. The room was filled with half a dozen agents. There were the background noises of people working, talking and tinkering.

“Are we interrupting anything?” Molly asked.

Desdemona turned to her and took a deep drawl of the cigarette in hand. “You’re back, what is it?”

I have these schematics.” Molly paused and looked around the room. “A scientist said they would get me inside the institute.”

Desdemona stubbed her cigarette out on the floor. “That information came from the courser chip?”

Molly nodded.

“You needed the frequency? Why? What does this machine do?” She narrowed her dark brown eyes at Molly.

She took a deep breath. “The machine is a teleportation device that can hijack a signal to transport me inside the Institute.”

Desdemona snorted a laugh. “This is unbelievable; we’ve tried for years to get this close to them. Too many people have died for this shit. Now, to have the ability to hit them in their home base? You are very determined woman, Molly.”

Molly smiled. Determined would not be the word she would use to describe herself. Desperate, cowardly, fearful, that’s what drove her, not determination. 

Desdemona laid a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Thanks to you, we have something. That isn’t to be taken lightly and we’ll get as many people on it as fast as we can. We’ve got work to do.”

Molly scratched her head and sighed. If took aligning herself to a group she wasn’t certain about, then that’s what it had to be. Deacon in particular had been a riddle she couldn’t get her head around, he had lied to her, told her things she had believed with all honesty that she felt could be true but maybe weren’t. He had told her she was too quick to trust, and that not trusting him would be a good place to start working on that. She just hoped her desperation hadn’t allowed her to align herself with the wrong people.

“We need to concentrate our efforts, drop everything to get this built. Go speak with Tom. He’ll tell you what your next move should be.” Desdemona lit another cigarette and then disappeared to talk with PAM.

The rest of the day, and most of the following was spent with Tom, whilst Nick tailed her and catalogued everything they needed. There would be likely several stages, the first, a platform. Once that was completed, she was to send word to Tom and Desdemona to come. They had suggested Mercer safehouse, currently residing on Spectacle Island. It was a quiet location and still to attract any settlers. However, Molly felt it was too isolated from the Minutemen and from Preston, so she suggested Sanctuary instead.

“Are you sure you want to do it there?” Nick asked.

“Nick, if I manage to bring Shaun home, that is the first place I want him to be. Even though he won’t know it, I’ll know it.” She looked to the ground. “It will be like coming home.”

Nick had nodded and questioned her no further.

There was still much to do, and for the most part Molly was glad to feel like she was getting somewhere. Returning to Homeplate would be a moment’s reprieve as she stepped closer to reaching Shaun.

They reached Diamond City at dusk. Molly grabbed some noodles from Takahashi before the store closed for the evening. She stepped through the door of Homeplate, her stomach churned before a spike of adrenaline hit as she crossed the threshold. Inside, the smell of gun oil and powder permeated the air, setting her instantly at ease.

She set her pack down. “MacCready?” she asked with an optimistic tone. 

There was no answer.

“Where do you want these, General?” Nick asked as he lifted the pack from his back and took Molly’s from her feet.

She pointed to workshop area, placed her Noodles on the bar, and looked around. Little had changed here in the main living section. She noticed a sleeping bag in the corner, around it, several scattered comic books taken from the magazine rack and several packs of cigarettes. He hadn’t taken the option of sleeping in th-- her bed then. A pang of disappointment hit her. Did he want to take the ‘professional relationship’ to the level that he even refused to sleep in her bed even without her? Her shoulders slumped as she followed Nick into the workshop.

“Wow,” she stared incredulously around the now crowded and very functional workshop.

“Kid’s been busy it seems.” Nick opened one of the cupboards where steel baskets sat with small screws and other weapon insides. There were even labels in a crude but legible hand.

“Very busy. I’m impressed. I wonder if he’s gone back to the boathouse?” For the second time in as many days she felt her heart shrink. In the week they’d been away MacCready had managed to cobble together several work stations, several shelves and had even found some extensive weapons racks. Everything was neat tidy and exceptionally well organised. He must have spent all the caps she had left for him, maybe even some of his own. 

She stepped around the corner to find a desk and two chairs, several filing cabinets and another small couch. Upstairs in the loft bedroom nothing had changed, the bed remained as she had left it. However, on the landing above there was a bookcase, a comfortable chair and side table with a lamp. There was also a decorative stand-alone ashtray. Several comic books lay on the shelves and the ashtray overflowed. She guessed he’d been spending most of his spare time reading and smoking. And by the looks of the empty ale bottles, drinking too.

Molly went back downstairs. “I’ll give you a hand in a minute, Nick. I just want to eat these noodles before they get cold.”

“Don’t rush, I can do most of it,” he replied.

Molly sat at the bar and ate, listening to Nick shift all her junk and extra weapons into various places. She finished and joined Nick in the workshop. “Everything in order?”

“Yeah, it is now. Didn’t think MacCready would be so neat.” He pointed to a trashcan on the floor. “He’s even thought about the rubbish.”

Molly laughed, he wasn’t the tidiest of men. “Well, that’s something. Surprising.”

“General, If you want I can fetch you some water from the pump.”

“You don’t have to do that, Nick. I can fetch my own water.”

“No problems. You’re likely tired. Been a big week and all. Plus I think once I do that I’ll leave for the evening and go see Ellie. I’ve got a few things to sort out. I might not return until morning if that’s okay?”

“Yeah no problem, Nick.”

“And maybe, if MacCready’s around, he can keep you company.“

Molly lowered her head and looked up at Nick with a sad grin. “We’ll see. He may not even be here.” 

She wandered over to the sideboard and dining table to see that the two teapots she’d collected on her way from the boathouse had been moved to the side. She picked up one and turned the teapot over in her hand. It was blue and the glaze on the outside still shone and for a pre-war relic, pristine. Unlike herself, who ached in so many places and was scraped and bruised and just plain tired. The other teapot was metal and rusted, much more like her, she didn’t think that even a bit of polish and elbow grease could remove all of the pots faults. Yet is was here, and it still held water. That was something at least.

Nick had returned with two pails of water. “Where do you want them, General?”

“One down here, one upstairs please.”

He carried them with far less effort than she could have, even just thinking about it had made her arms feel a sudden ache.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nick,” she called after him as he placed one of the buckets in the loft bedroom.

“Quite a bit I imagine. Consider me your friendly synthetic packhorse. Who knows a few things about birds,” he shouted down.

“You’re much more than that, Nick. And you know it.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He came down the stairs and smoothed his coat. “Anyway, if you don’t need the synth packhorse for anything else, I shall head out.” He didn’t wait for a reply, merely tipped his hat and headed out the door.

Molly dragged herself upstairs and set her pip boy on the table next to her bed. She stripped naked. It would be yet another day to catalogue the bruises and scratches, to wipe away the dirt within crevices of her skin and the creases that graced her palms and another opportunity to be upset at her rapidly dwindling weight. Molly liked her curves, she liked the way her hips swung and her breast bounced, all that was disappearing, like everything else from her past life. Expending more energy than you consumed seemed par for the course.

She took her time, sitting on a small stool, the water refreshing in a way that only cold water could be. She examined the remnant of the large bruise on her thigh; it had finally disappeared into shadow. However, now there were several new ones to take its place, thanks to that Glowing One in the Med-Tek building over a week ago, plus some general skirmishes from her trip to the Glowing sea. She had time to reflect and gather her thoughts, about Shaun, about MacCready. It felt like a moment of peace, to be alone here in a place that she might one day call her home.

She dressed in a pale blue laundered cotton robe, another find from the road from weeks ago and padded down to the living area in her bare feet. She turned the radio on, Travis’ confident tone oozing across the waves. She knelt behind the bar to see if MacCready had stocked it with anything. There were a dozen or so bottles with what looked to be mostly hard liquor, a few bottles of ale and a stash of potato chips.

“Good boy, MacCready. Now let’s see what you got.” She stuck her head in between the shelves and pulled out a bottle. She looked at the label, turned her nose up and placed it back before pulling out another. She turned her nose up again. She pulled out a third and a fourth only to see they had labels so crumbled you couldn’t even see what they were. “Oh MacCready, what is this rubbish? And what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking then, but I know what I’m thinking now.”

Molly startled at MacCready’s untimely entry bumping the back of her head on the shelf in response. She rubbed her head and looked behind her to see him standing there with a grin on his face. Laugh lines folded at the corner of her eyes and mouth and she felt a heat in her chest that slowly radiated upwards to her neck and face.

“Welcome home, General.” His tone was playful and light. He rubbed his hand on his chin.

She didn’t greet him, instead simply handed him a bottle. “What’s this?”

He looked at the label then pulled the lid. “Smells like bourbon to me, though I can’t read the label.”

“Whatever it is I think I might give it a miss if you don’t mind.”

“Your gut, your rules, General.” He gave a good-natured chuckle and remained standing behind her.

Molly was conscious that he was likely ogling her behind. She wiggled her hips on purpose as she dug her head back into the shelving and pulled out another bottle - one with a readable label. “Finally!” She stood and placed it on the bar. “Something that looks drinkable.”

“Oh ahhh. Yeah the Old Appalachia. The old faithful. Quality blend there, General.” MacCready’s posture stiffened and he gave her a tight-lipped smile.

Molly frowned, recognising a change in tone from him. “Wait.” She pointed to the bottle. “You weren’t saving this were you, MacCready? For something special? I can--”

“Um--” His hand went to his brow and he rubbed his top lip. “General, before you-- before you have a drink, or get drunk, or whatever it is that you plan to do, I think we need to talk.” He moved his hand to his jacket pocket and began to toy with something deep inside.

Molly fingered the collar of the robe and bit her lip hard enough the familiar metallic taste of blood hit her tongue. She looked into his eyes that were the colour of the sky, sure that there was a measure of nervousness in them. She took a stilted breath. “What is it, MacCready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I leave this on an angsty note? Why yes, yes I did.


	9. What lies behind us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A younger MacCready 'does the right thing' whilst an older MacCready returns to Homeplate early in hope of catching Molly before she and Nick leave for the Glowing Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had written this chapter and was persuaded to split it in two due to the sheer length (almost 10k) so this chapter and the next is from Mac's POV and are tied together (hence the titles). Once again a thankyou to the awesome Thievinghippo!

_They’d been travelling all day by the time they arrived in Diamond City. Neither had been here before and when contrasted with other larger settlements that either MacCready had lived or visited, Diamond City was a sparkling Jewel. This city had something special, sure, it was bustling like most big settlements, but beyond that, it had a life and culture beyond anywhere else he’d visited in the Capital and Commonwealth combined. It felt safe, secure and almost -- happy. This would be a great place to live, if you had the caps._

_He patted his pocket, aware of the extra caps he had bought along for the trip, just enough to have a good time. He’d heard that Diamond City was somewhere you visited for special occasions, where you could partake of its culture for a brief moment. So, he had bought Lucy here, for what he considered a special occasion. He had wanted to marry her -- and no matter your faith, or lack thereof -- the Pastor at the All Faiths Chapel could make it happen._

_“Maybe we should find somewhere to rest first,” Lucy said and yawned._

_“You okay Luce?” he said as he rubbed her shoulder._

_“Yeah just a little tired. Why are you so eager to do this right now?”_

_“I think if I am gonna promise myself to you, I want to make it official, and I want someone as a witness, it just feels like the right thing to do.” Hell if he knew what the ‘right thing to do’ was, but he knew that this, never want to leave Lucy’s side, never wanting to part from her, was more than just right. He brushed the hair from her eyes and kissed her. “Let’s do it, then we can celebrate.”_

_“I think I’m only fit to fall asleep.” She yawned again._

_“Then we’ll find a place to stay and just cuddle.”_

_“Just cuddle, hey? I think I’ve heard that one before. That’s what caused this.” She ran a hand over her stomach as she spoke then elbowed him in the ribs._

_He laughed and flinched at the same time._

_They finally found the chapel, open twenty-four hours, the small sign said. The rusty iron edifice was so humble compared with the many surrounding buildings that they walked passed it twice. When they entered the chapel, MacCready’s eyes went to the long wooden pews, dented, chipped and with worn spots on the seat, then traced across the room to the pulpit standing on the opposite side, it too, worn and chipped._

_“Can I help you young people?” A man asked from behind them taking both by surprise._

_MacCready turned “We’d like to speak with—with—“_

_“The Pastor?” He smiled and tucked a hand under his chin showing his collar._

_“Yes, we’d like to get married,” Lucy said as she folded her hand in MacCready’s._

_“Really now?” He squinted at them. “How old are you?”_

_“I’m eighteen.” MacCready mumbled and looked away. “Almost eighteen.”_

_“And I’m nineteen,” Lucy added._

_The man replied with deep resonant chuckle. “Well, you’re at the age of consent, not that it seems to matter much around here. I am Pastor Clements. You are?”_

_“I’m Ma-- I’m Robert. This is Lucy.”_

_“Pretty eager for this are we, Robert?” Pastor Clements had a growing smirk on his face._

_“We’re going to be parents,” MacCready blurted out._

_The Pastor looked to Lucy directing his gaze to the baggy shirt she wore and raised his brow. “Are we now? Okay then, Robert and Lucy. Let’s get you married, shall we?” He directed them to a corner of the room where the pulpit stood._

_The ceremony took less than five minutes._

_“That’s it? We’re married?” MacCready asked incredulously._

_“Yes. That’s it. You’re now husband and wife.” Pastor Clements looked to each of them with a reassuring smile._

_“I thought there’d be more to it--” MacCready was hit with a sudden burst of adrenaline and a huge smile graced his face._

_Pastor Clements laughed. “Oh there’s more too it alright, it’s just the biggest bit of it occurs after the ceremony. You’re tied to each other for life.”_

_Lucy placed her hand over her mouth and giggled, MacCready felt slightly drunk as he put an arm around her._

_“Where are you kids staying?” the Pastor asked._

_Lucy turned to MacCready then to the Pastor. “We don’t know. Pastor, do you know where we can stay?”_

_“Do you have caps?”_

_“Plenty,” MacCready replied. There were so many caps in his pocket he thought he’d be weighed down with them. Instead they made him feel lighter, confident that he could ‘do the right thing’. He could take care of Lucy, he could take care of their baby._

_“The Dugout Inn has decent rooms, if you do. Speak with Vadim, tell him I sent you, and that discounts for the All Faiths Chapel would be looked kindly upon by the Maker.”_

_They left the chapel arms folded around each other. They strolled around to the Dugout Inn, where inside, Vadim had greeted them. He growled at the mention of Pastor Clements ‘discounts’._

_MacCready’s chest puffed out as he introduced Lucy as his wife and Vadim congratulated them and joked about MacCready ‘punching upwards’. He gave them a key to his ‘best room’, so he said._

_He bought a bottle of whiskey and cigarettes for himself, and skewers of tasty meat for the both of them. He also bought sweet snacks and clean water for Lucy and they picnicked on the hotel room floor in their underwear._

_“This is amazing. This room is amazing. This food is amazing,” Lucy said as she licked her fingers from the skewers._

_MacCready took a shot of whiskey. “No, you’re amazing.”_

_She laughed and leaned over the impromptu picnic for a kiss._

_They made love like they had so many times before, with enthusiasm, eagerness and a large measure of carefree laughter. Lucy’s current state of pregnancy was no hindrance to their needs. Both of them, much to their surprise, warmly welcomed the pregnancy, an accident due mainly to the fact they couldn’t deny themselves each other when they should have shown restraint. The idea of being parents grew on them fast, and MacCready found himself looking forward to the event far more even than Lucy. First, when Lucy told him, he had a moment of panic. Did he have enough caps for it? Could he support all of them? Could he-- protect them from all the shitty things he’d seen in the Wasteland? He wasn’t sure he could. Then Lucy reminded him, that he was Mayor of a whole town of children at ten, he’d been kind, just and firm when needed. He realised then that he had already been a father once before then how hard could this be?_

_He kissed her stomach. “You have the tiniest of bumps, Luce.” He sighed as she ran her hands through his hair._

_“I’m sure it will get bigger. Much bigger. I’m glad I don’t feel sick anymore, that sucked.”_

_“Why do women get so sick?” He asked earnestly as he kissed up to her breasts then lay next to her, his hand remaining on her belly._

_“Hormones I think, just a flood of them early on.”_

_“I don’t know what that is.”_

_“Just stuff inside you that helps your body work. Hormones are like um-- like biological chemicals that run through your system and do things like regulate hunger, or your mood. Like in you, for example. You eat a lot, Mac, but you don’t put on weight. That’s hormones affecting your metabolism.”_

_MacCready nodded. “You remember Davey J? I shared a room with him, he ate less than me but he was pretty round. I guess his hormones didn’t work.” He chuckled when he remembered Davey’s round smiling face._

_“I remember, just a different rate of working I think.” She leaned over and kissed him._

_“So this baby, you reckon it’s a boy or a girl?” MacCready asked as he lit another cigarette._

_“I don’t know. A girl, maybe,” Lucy replied. “What do you want?”_

_He shrugged. “A boy, I guess. Either way, if it’s a girl and she looks like you she’ll be smart, clever and beautiful. And if she looks like me--”_

_“Heaven help her,” Lucy laughed, pulled the cigarette from his mouth, and kissed him, softer, inviting. “Hormones affect your desire for sex too--”_

_“I thought you were tired?” he said in a teasing manner as she continued to kiss him. He kissed her back._

_“I have my second wind. C’mon MacCready, you up for it?” Her hand tickled his belly and he responded immediately to the touch._

_“You really have to ask that?”_

“MacCready!” Vadim shouted as he walked open armed down to where MacCready had propped himself on the other side of the Dugout Inn bar. “What brings you here?”

“Hello, Vadim. It’s been a long time.” He placed an unlit cigarette in his mouth stood and held out his hand to the man on the other side.

Vadim took it and held it with a strong grip.

“Business Vadim, I’m here for a week or so and thought I would partake of your fine establishment.” He lit the cigarette and shook out the match.

“Always with sarcastic words.” Vadim shook his finger at him. “Where is your beautiful wife? I miss her pretty face, you never come here with her often enough for my liking. I prefer her face to yours.” He gave a loud chuckle.

MacCready gave a sad smile. “I miss her face too, Vadim. I’m afraid-- I’m afraid she passed away.” MacCready sat down again as he put the matches back in his pocket. The last time he had been here with Lucy had been without Duncan, an anniversary trip of sorts. They had scoffed so many noodles they were almost ill. And for three nights they never left the room, to the point where Vadim had come personally up to the room to check on them.

“Oh. Oh. I am very sorry, MacCready.” Vadim coughed and looked awkwardly off to the side.

MacCready sensed Vadim’s discomfort about the revelation and sought to put him at ease. He often felt having others feel sorry for him about Lucy’s death put him too close to the actual event, so it wasn’t something he actively sought. “I’ll have a whiskey thanks – a bottle if you have one.”

“Of course, of course.” He bought out a bottle and glass and placed it on the bar.

“Old Appalachia? The good stuff? Well I guess I got the caps for that.” It was going to cost a small fortune. He could be a cheap bastard like he always was or put out for the caps, and knowing that the spirit was offered out of a memory for his Lucy made the decision to part with the caps easier. MacCready put his hands in his pocket to pay.

Vadim put up his hands. “No, no. No caps. This one. On the house. For your beautiful Lucy.”

He gave a melancholic smile. “Thank you, Vadim. That’s very-- err kind.” He uncapped the bottle; the strong alcohol scent drifted across and hit his senses like a welcome kiss. He poured a liberal amount into the glass and held it up towards Vadim. “To Lucy.” He downed the glass in one, the liquid always burned, no matter the superiority of the drink.

Vadim nodded and walked back down to the other end of the bar to serve another patron as MacCready sat quietly and poured another glass. He’d missed Molly and Valentine that morning, by how long he wasn’t sure. The smell of peppermint tea and that light floral scent hit him when he entered Homeplate. The smell of her permeated the place. He’d closed his eyes and called her name only to find the place empty. He felt a pang of loneliness, measured only with a small sense of relief that at least he’d have time to collect his thoughts. Caps sat on the bar and a short note, in Valentines hand, said _‘don’t spend it all on whiskey, Jackass.’_

He’d fished out several bottles he’d bought from the boathouse, placed them behind the bar and had set to work immediately. When he was done, six hours had passed and he’d had one cigarette. It was good to think on something else; he had a few more days under his belt to figure out what he would say to Molly.

Vadim returned to his end of the bar. “So, this business, MacCready, what is it? What brings you here?”

He stubbed the cigarette in an ashtray. “Do you know Molly Gould?”

Vadim’s eyes widened. “Yes! The lovely General Molly. I saw her three, four weeks ago; she was having a drink with that-- reporter and the synth detective, Mr Valentine.”

“I’m working for her. Doing bits and pieces.” He stretched his neck from side to side.

“Ahh yes, good. So, where are you staying? I give you my best room.”

MacCready laughed at the memory of Vadim’s idea of ‘best room’. He’d given him and Lucy his ‘best room’ and it had taken years before MacCready knew that was a lie. “The General bought a place around the corner. ‘Homeplate’ they call it.”

“That place? The warehouse? It’s a mess. Why would she buy that?”

MacCready shrugged his shoulders. “Needed a place here I guess. She’s done quite a bit to it. Almost too good for the Wasteland. She’s good at that kind of thing. I’m just polishing up the workshop for her.” His voice carried a hint of pride in what the Good General had done, not just here either.

Vadim nodded. “It needed a lot of work.” He paused. “Mmmm, shame really.”

“Shame? How?” He took another sip of his whiskey.

Vadim looked around and then leaned across the bar. “She has a really nice ass. I was hoping-- well, you know.”

MacCready tried to hide a laugh with a cough. He could hardly be surprised that he would have been the only one to notice Molly’s ass. The woman had an hourglass figure and a generous, yet well-proportioned behind, it was hard _not_ to notice, especially from certain angles. “Right. Okay. That’s uh--”

“Hey, you work for her, she wears a wedding ring, but ahh-- I never see her husband.” Vadim waggled his finger.

MacCready pulled out another cigarette. “Ahh, well, you see, he’s dead.”

“Oh, really? Damn. So-- she’s all alone?” Vadim’s hands came together in a prayer and he tapped his chin with the tip.

MacCready felt a pang of jealousy but couldn’t help but humor the man. It felt cruel to crush his ambitions towards Molly, even though he knew that would be the outcome. He may no longer have been sharing Molly’s bed, but he knew the type of man she would be interested in, and unfortunately, for Vadim, he wasn’t that kind of man.

“Yeah, but I mean, he’s been gone eight months.” He was sure it was much longer than that, but for the General, only that amount of time had passed.

“You know she saved my ass? Her beautiful ass saved my ugly ass. I like her very much.”

MacCready took a long drawl on the cigarette. _So do I Vadim, so do I,_ but he said nothing.

“Do me a favor, MacCready.”

“Sure.” He tipped the ash off the end of his cigarette and tried to sound casual.

“Put in a good word for me, okay? I have more of the good stuff here, you know if-- if anything comes to fruition.”

“I can’t promise anything, Vadim.” The reality was he didn’t want to make a promise he knew he couldn’t keep, no amount of old Appalachia could to that.

He took another drink and put the cap on the bottle before tucking it under his arm, saying his goodbyes and heading back to Homeplate. He checked the locks several times before sticking the bottle on top of the bar in the living area. No need to pack it away, he’d be drinking it for the next night or two.

He walked upstairs to the loft bedroom and looked at the bed. The covers were slightly tousled, half made and there was an imprint where she had obviously sat on the side. An upturned bucket sat in the corner with a small stool. He couldn’t sleep here. He imagined Molly’s face if she came back to find the sheets stained black from his grime and he wasn’t of the mood to wash. 

He went to the workshop and rummaged around for the sleeping bag he’d seen earlier and set it up in the living area. He undressed down to underwear and socks and tucked himself in the sleeping bag. A comic and a cigarette within easy reach. Being here, in Diamond City, a safe place with locks on the door meant this might be a peaceful nights rest without the worry of being murdered in his sleep.

“Ahh, Grognak. You got all the moves.” He picked up a copy and started reading.

He was convinced now that it was a good thing, to have missed her. He’d been too cloudy in the head to articulate what he might actually say to her, where the road was quiet and straight, his thoughts had been a jumble of professions and explanations. A week without her -- or longer -- might be enough time to quell and straighten those thoughts out.

_”Just a little longer, Luce.”_

_“He needs a feed, Mac.”_

_He reluctantly handed the gurgling Duncan back to her and watched as she guided him to her breast._

_“Wow. You’re a natural.” He stared as Lucy’s hand gently stroked Duncan’s head. He’d seen other women feed their babies, but had paid scant attention to the process. Here though, watching his wife and child was fascinating and he just couldn’t look away._

_Lucy smiled and moved her hand to stroke MacCready’s chin. “It’s almost as if I’ve been looking after babies all my life.” She wore a smirk across her face._

_“MacCready, can I have a word?” MacCready hadn’t even noticed Red entering the room, he was too engrossed in Duncan and the soft noises his newborn son had been making whilst suckling. Red had been the only one they trusted to care for Lucy and to deliver Duncan. They had travelled from Megaton to Big Town especially, knowing that a former Little Lamplighter like Red was capable and trustworthy._

_“Yeah sure.” He followed her outside and shut the door behind him._

_“How long?” Red’s nostrils flared as she asked the question._

_“How long what?” MacCready’s brows knitted together in confusion._

_“How long have you been a damn Gunner, MacCready?”_

_MacCready’s tongue danced in his mouth. He was annoyed she bought it up now, of all times. However, he’d wondered how long it would be for someone like Red to catch on. “Shit. A while. What of it?”_

_Red put her hands on her hips and paced. “I can’t believe this. How long exactly?”_

_“Since I left here. Two years give or take a few months.” His hands briefly clenched together. He hadn’t told anyone he knew he was a Gunner, just in case it got back to Lucy._

_“And what does Lucy think?”_

_“Hummph.” His hands clenched together again, but this time they stayed clenched. “She doesn’t know.” He’s tried damn hard to keep it quiet, keep Lucy away from the knowledge of what he did. There had been so many times he had wanted to confide, to tell her about the things that had happened whilst on a job, how things had begun to affect him, and not in a good way. If Lucy did know, she was good at keeping a secret about it as much as he was. This really wasn’t Red’s business and he was tempted to walk away from the conversation._

_“How the hell have you kept that quiet?”_

_“Easy. Every other soldier and merc dresses the same. She thinks I’m a soldier, that’s it. That I run with a regiment and I get paid well for it. I get to come home regularly and I know no one in the Gunners knows anything about my private life.”_

_Red sighed. “Mac, you have a family now. The Gunners-- shit, the Gunners-- I’ve had them come here when their own surgeons have stuffed up. These men and women are--” She rubbed her brow. “They’re animals, Mac. You’re not like that.”_

_MacCready dug a heal into the floor. He knew what these assholes were like. How many fights he had recently gotten himself into was evidence of that. Explaining bruises on the body was easy, but a black eye he’d received barely more than two months prior had required some thought on plausible explanations. The task was become a drain on him. “I know. I know.”_

_“Well what are you going to do?”_

_“I don’t know.” He folded his arms across his chest. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t fucking know.”_

_“Well, I know what I would do. Look, there’s a homestead about five miles down the road. It’s new. There’s a number of settlers there now. They have families. Young families. They’d welcome you, Lucy and Duncan.”_

_“Shit, Red. I’m not a fucking farmer.”_

_Red shook her head. “You’d rather be someone hired to kill no questions asked? You’d rather that Duncan grow up with the idea that these assholes you work for are in anyway acceptable? That one day they’ll wake up and you’re dead? Or worse that some asshole will come looking for them for some petty revenge? Really? You’d do that?”_

_His mouth closed tightly and he didn’t answer. The thought of never returning had occurred to him numerous times. Every mission he scouted for reasons to hold back, to be the sniper in the woods, to not get too close to the action. Since Lucy told him about her pregnancy, he’d doubled up on efforts to get cushier jobs._

_Red punched him in the shoulder. “Really? Answer me, Mac.”_

_“No. Fuck no, of course not. I just-- I don’t know what to do. I’m not a farmer.” Since he’d been here, he’d been good at one thing, shooting and killing. That’s all they drummed into you in the Gunners, and he was beginning to believe that was all he could ever do. He tried to keep his voice low given Lucy was in the next room._

_“You can shoot, right? Settlements always need hunters or people to provide some sort of protection. You can keep watch. Give something back to the settlement. Hell, Mac, you were fucking Mayor for god’s sake. You don’t think that might give you some skills amongst other settlers? We had a community there in Little Lamplight. What kind of community can the Gunners offer you, Lucy, and Duncan?”_

_“I don’t want to have to think about this right now.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand._

_“No, this is the perfect time to think about it. Your wife just went through twenty hours of labor. She’s exhausted. You have a son. A beautiful boy. Now-- this is a good time, Mac.” Red went over to a drawer, pulled out a pencil and paper, and began scribbling. She came back and handed it to him._

_“What’s this?”_

_“Lucy’s gonna need care for the next few days, so you have time to do this. Take this note. Speak with Stephanie and Abdul, they are good people. Tell them I sent you. The settlement is five miles north-west up past the Ramsgate Motor Inn. Do yourself a favor, do the right thing by Lucy and Duncan,” she said softly._

_He folded the note and put it in his pocket. “Can I go back to my wife and child now?”_

_She nodded. “Mac, just-- remember who you were.” She threw her arms up in the air and left him._

_When he entered the room, Duncan was sleeping in Lucy’s arms. He stood for a moment and stared at them. They deserved everything, every happiness, all the joy, and he wanted to be the one to make sure they damn well got it. Red was right, he couldn’t give them a future if he remained in the Gunners. He couldn’t remain loyal to his family if he continued this lie._

_“What was that about, Mac? I thought I heard raised voices. Is Red okay?”_

_“Just the radio, Luce.” He sat next to her on the bed and smiled down at Duncan. “Look what we made. He’s beautiful.”_

_“Yeah, he is.” Lucy leaned down and kissed Duncan’s forehead._

_“Luce, tomorrow, I thought I’d go down to a new settlement, down the road a bit. They’re looking for new settlers to help on the place.” He concluded that if he made it sound like it was his idea, even though it was Red’s, it might make it easier for him and might sound more plausible when he broached it with Lucy. “I was thinking maybe-- we could go live there. Apparently, there’s other families there. Be good for Duncan. Be good for you.”_

_“Mac, that’s a great idea. But, you? A farmer? Shouldn’t you stay with your regiment?”_

_He shrugged. “The regiment is flexible. Plus I can do other stuff beside grow crops. I could hunt, provide security. I don’t have to get my hands dirty.”_

_She laughed. “Your hands are always dirty.”_

_“Yeah, true. But it’s a different kind of dirt.” He leaned forward and kissed Duncan’s cheek then leaned in to kiss Lucy._

_Tomorrow he’d go down to the homestead and then, he’d have to tell the Gunners he’d be leaving them. One of these was going to be much harder than the other._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops - that cliffhanger not resolved yet, sorry!


	10. What lies ahead of us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready continues to prepare Homeplate for Molly's return, hoping that when she does, he can finally resolve matters of miscommunication and conflict. And earlier, a newly widowed MacCready makes a decision to travel to the Commonwealth in order to find a cure for Duncan.

MacCready finally reached the last of the containers to sort through, a large footlocker that had sat behind the bar. He opened it and snorted back a laugh. “Oh General. Really?” He picked up the three neatly folded sequined gowns sitting next to the missile launcher. Although the idea of her wearing one of these gowns and holding that missile launcher was ridiculous, he had to admit the image was a turn on for him. He carried the dresses to the loft bedroom as delicately as he could, trying to make sure that his hands, dirty with gun oil, didn’t make a mark.

The drawers next to the bed, which he knew had to have been repaired by Molly herself given her penchant for furniture restoration, overflowed with clothes. Laundered dresses and men’s shirts, hats, caps, and pairs of glasses, all hoarded by Molly and placed neatly in each drawer. A small pouch sat in the corner of one drawer. He placed the dresses in the drawer and ignored the pouch. He was about to shut it but curiosity got the better of him and he lifted the pouch and poured the contents into his hand, It was Molly and Nate’s wedding rings. He balanced them; aware that the weight he felt was insignificant when compared with their symbolism. He wondered if her not wearing it meant anything, given that he had never seen her remove it at any other time. He and Lucy never had such things, they hadn’t needed them, it felt like a relic from the past, one in which most people could no longer afford. He sighed, put them back in the pouch, and placed it back in the drawer.

He sat on the bed, pulled out the toy soldier from his pocket, and placed it on top of the drawers. “We had our own way of showing our love didn’t we, Luce?”

Although never that great at organizing, he’d spent the last week and a half sorting through most of Molly’s junk at Homeplate. He was surprised to find after days of lifting heavy cabinets and tables, welding and screwing bits and pieces together and shifting benches and shelving around he’d created some semblance of order from the sheer quantity of stuff that was there.

He’d also made contact with a specialist arms dealer in town that had weapons racks for sale as well as a number of high quality weapons mods. He’d managed to purchase not only the racks but also several decent sniper mods, one for his gun and one for Molly’s for when she returned. All at a good price, of course.

Having been idle for so long he managed a reasonable work ethic - anywhere from eight ten hours most days and the evenings, he spent his free time drinking, in as much moderation as he could muster so as not to lose too much momentum throughout the work day. He’d also tried to reign in the smoking, partly because he knew he was running out and partly, when he smoked, he spent far too much time thinking. Molly had left a reasonable stack of magazines and comics to interest him otherwise and he took to walking around the city in the early evening before heading to the Dugout Inn for a drink.

In between all of the organising, thoughts on Molly and Duncan came back to him, along with that damn white noise. He still had trouble articulating what he was going to say to her on her return. He had jumbled thoughts, all mixed up in emotions that he couldn’t contain. Why he remained, how he felt. Then there was Duncan. He’d received word that the cure was taking effect, that he wasn’t one hundred percent better yet, but it was the most improved he’d been for some time.

Before he stepped out for the evening, he sat down at the bar, with an envelope, paper and pencil. He took out an ale and cracked the cap, taking a sip before placing pencil to paper.

_Dear Duncan, It’s your pa here. Abdul tells me you’re getting better, that he’s been telling you my bad jokes and you even laughed, that in itself is a miracle. I’ve got a few more jokes to share on my return. I’m just writing to let you know that I love you, and that if your mama was here, she’d tell you the same. Also, I’m gonna be here in the Commonwealth a little longer, for reasons I can’t explain to you just yet, just know that your pa is trying to finish something he started, even if it works out I promise to come visit real soon, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do._

_I love you._

_Pa._  
_PS just a few swears so that’s more than a few caps I owe you, but cross my heart no more - you be good for Stephi and Abdul okay?_  
_PPS what’s brown and sticky?_

He sniffed, and folded the note placing it carefully in the envelope before sealing it and writing ‘Duncan MacCready’ on the front. He’d take it to the courier office tomorrow.

He drained the ale and headed out to the Dugout Inn. He was there barely an hour when someone pulled a stool up next to him.

“Thought I’d find you here, MacCready.”

He turned to see the familiar coat and hat of Diamond City’s great synth Detective.

“Valentine, you’re back.” He looked around but Molly wasn’t with him. “The General?”

“She’s doing something you probably need to think about.” He sniffed the air derisively.

He stubbed his cigarette out. “Thanks for the vote of no confidence. Good to see you, too.” He glanced at the entrance then back to Nick.

“Waiting for someone?” he laughed and MacCready was sure he raised whatever sufficed for synth eyebrows. “You did a good job on the workshop. The General was pretty pleased.”

“Good, that’s all I wanted. Let me get you what-- a can of oil or something?” He gave a short bark of a laugh.

“You’re still a jackass. But I guess she must see something in you.”

MacCready was about to question what he meant when Vadim came to their end of the bar.

“Ahh Mister Valentine, can I get-- ah no, you don’t-- I forget these things”

“I was just leaving. But, thanks, Vadim. See you tomorrow, MacCready.” He tipped his hat and smiled.

MacCready watched Nick leave then turned quickly to Vadim. “Hey Vadim, you got somewhere I can wash my face? I got some extra caps.”

_MacCready sat with his head in hands. There had been too many tears. He had nothing left to give._

_“Here, Mac,” Abdul said quietly._

_He lifted his head and took the drink with shaking hands. “Thanks.”_

_“What are you going to do?” Abdul asked._

_“I heard a rumor, there might be cure, but I’ll have to travel to the Commonwealth. But-- but I can’t take him with me, he’s too sick. And I can’t leave in case--” He’d been moonlighting as a mercenary, trying to gather caps together, that’s when he first received a lead. He’d come and go from the homestead and as long as he did his duties around the settlement, never left Duncan for too long with the others, they never questioned him. Especially when he bought spare caps for the settlement kitty. Although there was occasionally, the odd leading query about what he was doing, he always managed to deflect it. They gave up trying._

_“Mac, I know you don’t want to, but leave him here. You know he’ll be in good hands. If he gets worse, we’ll send for you.”_

_He rubbed a hand over his face. “If it’s the only way. I have to go.” First Lucy, now Duncan. All he could see in front of him was despair. The possibility of losing his son so soon after Lucy and the thought of leaving--. He was supposed to protect them, and he couldn’t even do that right. His limbs felt heavy, as though he carried too much weight, as though he’d never feel them be light again. He was more tired than he’d ever been in his twenty-one years in this Wasteland. “It’s not fair, you know?”_

_“No, Mac it’s not.” Abdul laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be here, when you make a decision. We’ll all be here.” He stood and left MacCready alone._

_He stood and entered Duncan’s room. It was small and crowded with furniture and toys. In one corner stood a bookshelf and on it several comics that MacCready had been reading to him. Duncan’s breathing labored and Stephanie was wiping his brow. “Let me,” he whispered._

_She nodded, passed the cloth to him and squeezed his arm as she left the room._

_“Hey, Duncan.” He wiped his son's face with a delicate hand. “I might need to go away for a while, but I promise it won’t be for too long, okay? I’m gonna look for something that might make you better.” His lip quivered. “I’ll try and collect some more jokes and comics for you on the road, hey?” Duncan remained sleeping and he could see the boy's eyes move under the lids._

__Please don’t die._ _

_MacCready sniffed and Duncan rolled over with a small moan to face him still with his eyes closed. The boils around his neck looked painful and his face dripped with sweat from fever. He patted him dry but more beaded sweat poured from his scalp._

_He dropped the cloth on the ground, put one hand over his face and grabbed Duncan’s hand with the other. It was clammy and limp._

Please don’t die.

_He thought he had no more tears left, that there was only so much sadness in you to make you cry. But how many times had he shed tears since Lucy died? A dozen? Two dozen? Every day? He rubbed his eyes and once again, his hand came away wet._

_“I’ll find it. And I’ll do what I have to do, Duncan. And if I can’t-- I’ll die trying. That’s a promise.” He kissed Duncan’s hand, then his head and pulled the bedclothes up around his shoulders._

When he entered Homeplate he didn’t need to call her name to know she was there. He could smell her. He closed his eyes and smiled as soap and peppermint flooded his senses, he missed that smell, he loved that smell. He took a whiff of his hands and his shirt; Vadim had allowed him the use of a bathroom and even gave him some hot water to wash. It hadn’t been the most thorough of cleans but it made the reek Valentine spoke of disappear, and he’d at least be presentable to the General.

He stepped around past the workshop and could hear her quiet murmur near the bar.

“Good boy, MacCready. Now let’s see what you got.” She placed several bottles on top of the bar but never looked up.

He walked behind her, and smirked as he watched her ass wriggle from under. She was wearing a pale blue dressing gown and he could see from the smoothness of the material over her cheeks that she wore nothing underneath. He’d just stay here just a little while, this was a view he had most definitely missed.

“Oh MacCready, what is this rubbish? And what were you thinking?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking then, but I know what I’m thinking now.” He laughed and heard a small thud as she remained kneeling but turned her head to him.

She had a smile on her face and her cheeks were pink.

“Welcome home, General.” His tone was playful and light. He rubbed his hand on his chin.

She didn’t greet him, instead simply handed him a bottle. “What’s this?”

He looked at the label then pulled the lid and sniffed. “Smells like bourbon to me, though I can’t read the label.”

“Whatever it is I think I might give it a miss if you don’t mind.”

“Your gut, your rules, General.” He gave a good-natured chuckle and remained standing behind her. He wasn’t sure but it damn well looked like she was wiggling her ass at him on purpose. Not that he minded.

“Finally!” She stood and placed a bottle on the bar. “Something that looks drinkable.”

It was the one bottle he’d been saving - either to share with her or drink until he could no longer stand. Which way it went would depend on the manner in which she accepted what he had to say to her. “Oh ahhh. Yeah the Old Appalachia. The old faithful. Quality blend there, General.” He felt his posture stiffen and he gave her a tight-lipped smile.

Molly frowned. “Wait.” She pointed to the bottle. “You weren’t saving this were you, MacCready? For something special? I can--”

This was it, it had to play out now or never. He had to tell her, no matter how jumbled his thoughts had been, and there was no backing down. “Um--” His hand went to his brow and he rubbed his top lip. “General, before you-- before you have a drink, or get drunk, or whatever it is that you plan to do, I think we need to talk.” He moved his hand to his jacket pocket and fiddled with the toy soldier he always kept with him.

“What is it, MacCready?” Molly played at the collar of her gown and her hand traced from her neckline to the edge of her face.

He could see her shoulders tense so he kept the tone of his voice as even as he could. He’d hoped not to make her nervous, but then his own nerves were likely showing. “Um—I think, Molly-- I think we really need to clear the air here.” His foot tapped on the ground and his hand scratched the back of his neck. “I came up early from the boathouse because I thought I might catch you before you left here with Valentine. I’m glad I didn’t." He swallowed hard. "Because it gave me some time to think about what I was going to say to you. And there are several things that need saying. Will you hear me out?”

“Of course, yes.” Her hands folded over each other and he watched her eyes follow his hand to his pocket.

“I know this might seem like an unusual gift, and it probably doesn’t make sense, but I’d like you to have this." He pulled out the wooden toy soldier that Lucy had given him years ago. The surface worn and the paint faded from a long time held in the warmth of his jacket and for all the time spent carried in his knapsack.

She looked at the toy sitting in his open palm and bit her lip. “A toy soldier?”

"It’s for everything you’ve done for me. Dealing with Winlock and Barnes, for helping to find Duncan’s cure, for—for many things, that I never should have taken from you, yet you gave to me freely. This soldier means a lot to me.” He gave her a weak smile as her hand brushed against his when he passed it to her.

Molly took the toy with a quiet smile and turned it over in her hand. “If it means something to you, then it’s a thoughtful gift.” Her eyes sparkled and rose to his expectantly. “Did you make this? Back in Little Lamplight?”

He shook his head. “No. Lucy made it. She gave it to me right after we met up again in Megaton. I—um, stupidly told her I was a soldier; she didn’t seem to know much about the Gunners. She didn’t know that I lied about that part of my life. I didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise, that I was just another Wasteland mercenary looking for cheap way to make caps and never questioning how he got them.”

“She never knew?” Molly placed a hand on her cheek.

“No. I don’t think so. But it doesn’t matter now, now—she’s gone. Anyway, I wanted you to have it and that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. So there you go.” That had gone smoother than he imagined.

There was a silence between them but he felt a measure of calm wash over him. However, he could see Molly’s eyes dart around the room and her hand returned to fidget at the collar of her gown.

“You said you had several things you-- you wanted to say.” She took a deep breath; he could see the rise and fall of her chest as if her heart was fluttering under blue cotton.

MacCready caught the hitch in her voice “Yes. I--” He glanced down at his feet and back to her face. “Things haven’t been-- right between us since Sunshine Tidings. I just wanted to say again that I was wrong, for questioning your motives. I’m sorry for breaking your vase and your table and for making you scared of me. That was a mistake, a huge one. I was selfish and I can’t ever be sorry enough.”

Molly’s voice trembled. “I forgive – forgave you for everything that happened there.”

He could see the same look in her eyes that she had when he threw the vase. “Molly, you’re not still scared of me are you?”

She shook her head. “No, no I’m not scared, not of you. I’m not sure why you don’t believe me when I say I’ve forgiven you though.”

MacCready grimaced and scratched his jaw. “Well, lately-- you’ve been distant. I know you have a lot going on, but it’s like-- like you're still hurt and angry at me. At the time when we began sleeping together, it felt right, you know? That it was a something we both wanted. I know you said you forgive me, but I’m getting mixed messages.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry, I honestly can’t read people. I’ve never needed to, because to me they were all as—they were pretty much not to be trusted. But you, you’re different. You trusted me first-- from the moment we walked out of the Third Rail. At least I thought--”

“I’ve been confused, that’s all and you weren’t exactly wrong about what you said. I meant what I said at Sunshine Tidings when I ran out that night, it wasn’t you, it was me and my messed up head. What you said to me the day after, if anything I think it gave me a reality check, that maybe, as always, I was doing it all wrong.” She swallowed hard and he could see the tears begin to mount. He hadn’t wanted to drag a painful memory back for her. However, she still couldn’t see her worth, and he felt that was partly his fault.

“No, no, that isn’t the case, General. You were doing what you needed to do and I—yeah.” He began to pace in front of her. The affection he had for her, the regard and concern, he was beginning to doubt his ability to translate these feelings coherently. “Look I’m not very good at this kind of thing. Hand me a gun with some bullets, give me a target, I’m in heaven. Give me words and feelings I’m the – what is it – village fool? Who manages to fu—mess up a lot.”

Molly’s voice cracked. “No, you're far from that, MacCready. May--maybe I did things because they needed to be done, but you did the same. And for whatever reason you're still here, even though you don’t need to be.”

He stopped and opened his palms to her and shook his head. “That’s where you're wrong, I -- need to be here, General. And I guess this is getting to the pointy end, I owe you an explanation as to why I’m still here, why I let someone else take that cure back to Duncan. Right?”

She shook her head. “No, no, you don’t owe me anything, all debts are cleared.”

“Yes. Yes I do.” His jaw clenched as he stared into her eyes. “You want to know, don’t you?”

This time she nodded her head yes.

He took her arm and caressed the bare skin of her forearm, his fingers danced on the sleeve edge. Her skin was warm smooth another reminder of how much he’d missed touching her. “I have rarely finished what I started. So I’m here to do that. Back in Sunshine Tidings, I promised to help you find Shaun, and I don’t want payment for that. I know that Duncan is in good hands, with good people, and this sounds like a contradiction given everything you know about me, but they are people I trust.” He heaved a sigh. “I have something else that is just as important to do. Here.”

Molly looked away and dropped her arms to her side. “I have other companions and helpers, MacCready. God knows I need as much help as I can get. I’m not saying your help isn’t wanted, it’s that, I can see you’re needed elsewhere, for one of the most important people in your life. Your son. What is it that's so important here?” Her lips began to quiver.

He shook his head and laughed. “You still don’t see it, do you General?” He stared at her. He wanted her to see her worth. He started to pace again. “I know there are some places I can’t follow, you need Nick and Preston and Strong and you need Piper to talk her way into places.” He rubbed his temples. “Sh—grr -- even the Railroad and Deacon with all his crazy disguises.” He stopped in front her again, his eyes pleading. “But, I. Me. The guy who first thought you could have as easily shot me in the back as kiss me, I want to know that you’re safe. I _need_ to know that you and your—that your beautiful ass isn’t getting kicked by ghouls or supermutants, and I don’t want that information after everyone else already knows about it.”

He listened as Molly sucked in a breath and watched helplessly as she began to cry, she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

“General-- Molly, dammit." He rubbed his fist on his forehead. He’d made her cry again and this was not how he had intended this conversation to go. He had wanted to tell her that he loved her that her safety meant ten times his own. This was his last chance to get this right. "Molly, you are one of the most important people in my life, and even though I know I can’t protect you from what this sh-- what this world has in store I’m not needed elsewhere, I’m needed here. Right here.” He gestured to the ground with a pointed index finger.

She continued to cry but remained standing in front of him.

He stepped forward, lifted his cap and brushed his hand through his hair, resigned to the fact that this had all gone to shit but still wanting to finish. “I know I said that we should keep it professional, that maybe maintaining some sort of distance would make things better, for you, for me. But it hasn’t. It’s made it worse, for me anyway. I know things can’t go back to the way they were, but I don't want it that way, because I miss, I miss being close to you. I love you.”

Molly emitted an audible gasp.

He shook his head and broke eye contact, “Look I know you may not feel the sa-- ”

Before he managed to finish she laid a hand on his cheek, pushed his face to look at her and brushed it with a delicate thumb. She spoke in a quiet tone, barely above a whisper as her tears continued to fall. “I love you.”

There was a sudden thud in his chest and he gave a gentle astonished laugh. “Wha-- I thought--” He stared at her dumbfounded then shook his head. “I told you I was no good at reading people.” He took her hand in his and kissed it. His other hand snuck around her waist and bought her in tight against him. The familiar warmth and the curve of her waist under his hand sent his heart rate up and made his head spin. “I had hoped, you would feel the same. But, you kno--”

“Silly boy, what were you thinking?” Her eyes were still cloudy with tears.

“Well I don't know really. A lot of things. I was thinking about your ass before.” He leaned in and kissed her, eager to have his lips on hers, eager to feel the warmth of her tongue. Her hand went through his hair; the scrape of her fingers in his scalp reminding him how there was nothing about her he didn’t miss.

Their foreheads pressed against one another. Her hand stroked his cheek, her palm was smooth and he could feel the light callous at the base of her finger where her wedding ring once sat.

“I really did miss you, Molly. You and your beautiful ass.”

Molly sniffed and laughed. “We’ve been doing the same dance it seems, just out of step with one another. Time to-- time to get in line.” She kissed his cheek. He returned her kiss with one of his own.

When they broke apart, he stroked her throat with soft kisses and caresses and kissed stray tears from her face. “What now, General? Your trip, did you get what you needed?”

She nodded and wiped her face with her hand. “I did. Come over here and let me tell you.”

She held his hand, guided him to the couch and sat on his lap with her arms around him. His hand instinctively moved to her behind stroking the soft cotton of the gown.

“We have schematics for a device. It can supposedly transport people to the Institute.”

MacCready took a breath. “Wow, seems I missed a lot. I want to come with you, we can go to Institute together.”

She shook her head. “I don't think you can, it's meant for only one person. And we don't even know if it will work, although the Railroad agents think it can.” Her hand played at the back of his neck. “It’s a prototype, and -- I might as easily end up obliterated as transported anywhere Shaun might be.”

“I don't like the sound of that. But I know you have to do this.” He placed his head on her chest. He knew for as much as she loved him, she loved her son too, and for that love you would be willing to go to the ends of the earth to save, even if it meant you died trying.

“It might be the only chance I get.” She ran her hands through his hair again.

“Where are you going to build it?”

“I’ve arranged for it to be built in Sanctuary. I’m waiting to hear that we have the sensor and parts we need. But I-- I want to leave as soon as I can. That might be tomorrow or a few days.”

“Then I’ll come with you to Sanctuary and I’ll wait there for you. If you want.” He wasn't pleased, but he would do the very same if it were Duncan. He was silent for a moment and his grip hardened on her behind.

“I want, very much.” She kissed him again, just a peck, but he felt the tension he held swept away in the taste of her lips.

They stayed quiet together on the couch for a while, kissing and caressing one another. He searched her face for more tears that he could kiss away but they rapidly dwindled, but he kissed her cheeks anyway. Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, and he was never more thankful than at that moment to Vadim for allowing him to wash at least some of the grime away. He buried his face into her neck as her hand continued combing his scalp. There was barely a hint of perfume from the soap she used but to him she smelt like a field of flowers and her neck was soft under his dry lips.

“What now, General?” He kissed her and rubbed her thigh.

She gave him a blank look. “I--, what?”

He laughed and traced a finger down from her neck to her cleavage. “What now?” he repeated.

She gave him a smile that lit up her whole face. “Oh, yes, um--” She put a hand on his cheek and gave him a lingering kiss. Her body pressed up tight against him. “Well, would you like to try the comfort of my bed, given you’ve been sleeping in that sack on the floor for over a week?” She pointed to the sleeping bag tucked in the corner of the room currently littered with comics.

His brows rose and he nodded enthusiastically, feeling a flush come to his face. If he’d been in a race he knew he’d be running a victory lap right about now. She slid off his lap and grabbed his hand as he trailed behind her with a goofy smirk sitting across his face. At the top of the stairs he threw his hat on the bed and kissed her as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. She held his face with her hands and caressed his cheeks.

He broke apart from the kiss but their faces remained close. “Hang on a minute. Stay right here.” He let go of her and bolted down the stairs back to the living area. He grabbed the whiskey and two glasses from the bar. If ever this was a celebratory moment, one worthy of Old Appalachia, this was it. He headed back to the loft bedroom; the glasses clinked against the bottle as he took three steps at a time to reach the top.

At the top, Molly sat kneeling in the middle of the bed, wearing only his cap and a wide smile. He stood and stared. Where Molly’s face and arms were sun kissed the rest of her stood stark white with the familiar fleck of ginger freckles dappled over much of the rest of her body. But it was that goddamn smile he couldn’t take his eyes off. He put the Old Appalachia down next to her pip boy and stripped as fast as he could. He was so keen to remove his pants he forgot he was still wearing his boots. His heart was racing and blood flowed straight to his cock, making him giddy. He could see her wiggling her hips invitingly under her heels as he undid his laces and threw the mud-spattered boots to one side.

She laughed an open mouth hearty laugh as he struggled out of the rest of his clothes tearing at them with abandon. When he removed his underwear, she hid a shy giggle behind her hand. He couldn’t hide his eager erection. He bounded onto the bed, grabbed her around the waist, locked his lips on hers and kissed her hard. She molded herself into him putting her arms around his neck and leaning her elbows on his shoulders. They fell gently back on the bed and her legs unfolded and relaxed around him as he lay on top of her but still not inside her. He was going to make this moment last. “I want to kiss every single freckle on your body, Molly Gould.”

She laughed and her hands went behind his head to play with his hair. “That might take a while, MacCready. There are quite a lot.”

“Good. That was the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended for one more Chapter, but I think it would detract from the ending and what I have planned is worth its own story - there may be an interlude, and some smutty one-shots with these two but for now, Tea and Sympathy is finished. Thankyou to everyone who read, enjoyed and left kudos and comments on this little fic.


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